Yuri Vizbor was not on the list to read. Boris Vasiliev: Not on the lists

© Vasiliev B.L., heirs, 2015

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Part one

1

Throughout his life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has not met so many pleasant surprises as he did in the last three weeks. He had been waiting for the order to confer on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, a military rank for a long time, but after the order, pleasant surprises poured in such abundance that Kolya woke up at night from his own laughter.

After the morning formation, at which the order was read out, they were immediately taken to the clothing warehouse. No, not in the general, cadet, but in the cherished one, where chrome boots of unthinkable beauty were issued, crunchy shoulder straps, rigid holsters, commander's bags with smooth lacquer tablets, an overcoat with buttons and a tunic made of a strict diagonal. And then everyone, the entire issue, rushed to the school tailors to adjust the uniform both in height and in the waist, in order to fit into it, like into their own skin. And there they pushed, fiddled, and laughed so hard that a state-owned enamel lampshade began to swing under the ceiling.

In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on graduation, handed over the "Identity card of the commander of the Red Army" and a weighty "TT". The beardless lieutenants were deafeningly shouting the number of the pistol and with all their might squeezed the dry general's palm. And at the banquet they enthusiastically shook the commanders of the training platoons and tried to settle scores with the foreman. However, everything turned out well, and this evening - the most beautiful of all evenings - began and ended solemnly and beautifully.

For some reason, it was on the night after the banquet that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov discovered that he was crunching. It crunches pleasantly, loudly and courageously. The fresh leather of the belt crunches, the uncrumpled uniforms, the shining boots. The whole crunch is like a brand new ruble, which for this feature the boys of those years simply called "crunch".

Actually, it all started a little earlier. At the ball, which followed after the banquet, yesterday's cadets came with the girls. But Kolya did not have a girlfriend, and he, stammering, invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips anxiously, said thoughtfully: “I don’t know, I don’t know ...” - but she came. They danced, and Kolya, out of burning shyness, kept talking and talking, and since Zoya worked in the library, he talked about Russian literature. At first, Zoya assented, and at the end she resentfully protruded her ineptly painted lips:

- You crunch too painfully, Comrade Lieutenant.

In school language, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was asked. Then Kolya understood it that way, and when he came to the barracks, he found that he was crunching in the most natural and pleasant way.

“I’m crunching,” he told his friend and bedmate, not without pride.

They were sitting on a windowsill in the second floor corridor. It was early June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs that no one was allowed to break.

- Crunch your health, - said the friend. - Only, you know, not in front of Zoya: she is a fool, Kolka. She is a terrible fool and is married to a petty officer from an ammunition platoon.

But Kolya listened with half an ear, because he studied the crunch.

And he liked this crunch very much.

The next day, the guys began to leave: everyone was entitled to a vacation. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one by one disappeared behind the lattice gates of the school.

For some reason, Kolya was not given travel documents (however, there was nothing to go to: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go to find out when the orderly shouted from afar:

- Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissioner! ..

The commissar, very much like the suddenly aged actor Chirkov, listened to the report, shook hands, indicated where to sit, and silently offered cigarettes.

“I don’t smoke,” said Kolya and began to blush: he was generally thrown into a fever with an extraordinary ease.

“Well done,” said the commissioner. - And I, you know, still can’t give up, I don’t have enough willpower.

And he lit a cigarette. Kolya was about to advise how to temper the will, but the commissar spoke again:

- We know you, Lieutenant, as an extremely conscientious and executive person. We also know that you have a mother and a sister in Moscow, that you have not seen them for two years and have missed them. And you are entitled to a vacation. - He paused, climbed out from behind the table, walked, staring intently at his feet. - We know all this and nevertheless decided to appeal to you with a request ... This is not an order, this is a request, mind you, Pluzhnikov. We no longer have the right to order you ...

- I am listening, comrade regimental commissar. - Kolya suddenly decided that he would be offered to go to work in intelligence, and all tensed, ready to shout deafeningly: "Yes!"

“Our school is expanding,” said the commissioner. - The situation is difficult, in Europe there is a war, and we need to have as many combined-arms commanders as possible. In this regard, we are opening two more training companies. But their staffs are not yet staffed, and the property is already arriving. So we ask you, Comrade Pluzhnikov, to help sort out this property. Accept it, post it ...

And Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position "where will they send." His whole course had long gone, he had long had romances, sunbathed, swam, danced, and Kolya diligently counted bed sets, running meters of footcloths and a pair of cowhide boots. And he wrote all sorts of reports.

Two weeks passed in this way. For two weeks Kolya patiently, from getting up to lights out and seven days a week, received, counted and arrived property, never leaving the gate, as if he was still a cadet and was waiting for a leave from an angry foreman.

In June, there were few people left at the school: almost everyone had already left for the camps. Usually Kolya did not meet with anyone, up to his throat busy with endless calculations, statements and acts, but somehow with joyful surprise he discovered that he was ... welcomed. They greet in accordance with all the rules of army regulations, throwing their palm to their temples with a cadet chic and throwing their chin dashingly. Kolya tried his best to answer with weary carelessness, but his heart sank sweetly in a fit of youthful vanity.

It was then that he began to walk in the evenings. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked straight to the groups of cadets who were smoking before going to bed at the entrance to the barracks. Wearily, he looked strictly in front of him, and his ears grew and grew, catching a cautious whisper:

- Commander ...

And, already knowing that his palms were about to fly resiliently to his temples, he diligently frowned his eyebrows, trying to give his face, round, fresh, like a French bun, an expression of incredible concern ...

- Hello, Comrade Lieutenant.

It was on the third evening: nose to nose - Zoya. In the warm twilight, white teeth sparkled with a chill, and the numerous frills moved by themselves, because there was no wind. And this lively thrill was especially frightening.

- Something you are nowhere to be seen, Comrade Lieutenant. And you don't come to the library anymore ...

- Work.

- Are you left at the school?

“I have a special task,” Kolya said vaguely.

For some reason they were already walking side by side and in the wrong direction.

Zoya talked and talked, laughing incessantly; he did not grasp the meaning, wondering that he was so submissively going in the wrong direction. Then he thought with concern if his outfit had lost its romantic crunch, shrugged his shoulder, and the sword belt immediately responded with a tight noble creak ...

“… It's terribly funny! We laughed so much, laughed so hard. You're not listening, Comrade Lieutenant.

- No, I'm listening. You were laughing.

She paused: her teeth gleamed again in the darkness. And he no longer saw anything but this smile.

“You liked me, didn't you?” Well, tell me, Kolya, did you like it? ..

“No,” he whispered. - I just do not know. You are married.

- Married? .. - She laughed loudly. - Married, huh? You were told? So what if married? I accidentally married him, it was a mistake ...

Somehow he took her by the shoulders. Or maybe he didn’t take it, but she herself led them so deftly that his hands were suddenly on her shoulders.

“By the way, he's gone,” she said matter-of-factly. - If you walk along this alley to the fence, and then along the fence to our house, no one will notice. You want some tea, Kolya, right?

He already wanted tea, but then a dark spot moved on them from the alley darkness, swam and said:

- Sorry.

- Comrade regimental commissar! - Kolya shouted desperately, rushing after the figure stepping aside. - Comrade regimental commissar, I ...

- Comrade Pluzhnikov? Why did you leave the girl? Ay, ay.

- Yes of course. - Kolya rushed back, said hastily: - Zoya, excuse me. Affairs. Official business.

That Kolya muttered to the commissar, getting out of the lilac avenue into the calm expanse of the school parade ground, he had forgotten in an hour. Something about a tailor cloth of a non-standard width, or, it seems, a standard width, but not quite a cloth ... The Commissioner listened, listened, and then asked:

- Was that a friend of yours?

- No, no, what are you! - Kolya was frightened. - What are you, comrade regimental commissar, this is Zoya, from the library. I didn't hand over the book to her, so ...

And he fell silent, feeling that he was blushing: he respected the good-natured elderly commissar very much and was ashamed to lie. However, the commissar started talking about something else, and Kolya somehow came to his senses.

“It’s good that you don’t run the documentation: little things play a huge disciplining role in our military life. For example, a civilian can sometimes afford something, but we, the career commanders of the Red Army, cannot. We cannot, for example, walk with a married woman, because we are in plain sight, we must always, every minute, be a model of discipline for our subordinates. And it is very good that you understand this ... Tomorrow, comrade Pluzhnikov, at eleven-thirty, I ask you to come to me. Let's talk about your future service, maybe go to the general.

- Well, then see you tomorrow. - The commissar gave his hand, held it, said quietly: - And the book will have to be returned to the library, Kolya. Have to!..

Of course, it turned out very badly that I had to deceive the comrade of the regimental commissar, but for some reason Kolya was not too upset. In the future, a possible meeting with the head of the school was expected, and yesterday's cadet was waiting for this meeting with impatience, fear and trepidation, like a girl - meeting her first love. He got up long before getting up, polished his crisp boots until they glowed independently, hemmed a fresh collar and polished all the buttons. In the commanding staff canteen - Kolya was monstrously proud that he was feeding in this canteen and personally paying for the food - he could not eat anything, but only drank three servings of dried fruit compote. And at exactly eleven he arrived at the commissioner.

- Ah, Pluzhnikov, great! - In front of the door of the commissar's office sat Lieutenant Gorobtsov - the former commander of Kolya's training platoon - also polished, ironed and tightened. - How's it going? Rounding off with footcloths?

Pluzhnikov was a thorough man and therefore told everything about his affairs, secretly wondering why Lieutenant Gorobtsov was not interested in what he, Kolya, was doing here. And ended with a hint:

- Yesterday the comrade regimental commissar also asked me about business. And he ordered ...

Lieutenant Velichko was also the commander of a training platoon, but of the second, and he always argued with Lieutenant Gorobtsov on all occasions. Kolya understood nothing of what Gorobtsov had told him, but he nodded politely. And when he opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, the door of the commissar’s office opened and the radiant and also very ceremonial lieutenant Velichko came out.

“They gave the company,” he said to Gorobtsov. - I wish you the same!

Gorobtsov jumped up, tugged at his tunic as usual, pushing all the folds back in one movement, and entered the study.

“Hello, Pluzhnikov,” Velichko said and sat down next to him. - Well, how are you, in general? Have you passed everything and accepted everything?

- In general, yes. - Kolya again spoke in detail about his affairs. Only did not have time to hint at the commissar, because the impatient Velichko interrupted earlier:

- Kolya, they will offer - ask me. I said a few words there, but you, in general, ask.

- Where to ask?

Then the regimental commissar and lieutenant Gorobtsov came out into the corridor, and Velichko and Kolya jumped up. Kolya started "at your order ...", but the commissar did not listen to the end:

- Come on, Comrade Pluzhnikov, the general is waiting. You are free, comrade commanders.

They went to the head of the school not through the waiting room, where the duty officer was sitting, but through an empty room. In the back of this room there was a door through which the commissar went out, leaving the worried Kolya alone.

Until now, Kolya met with the general, when the general handed him a certificate and personal weapons, which so nicely pulled his side. There was, however, one more meeting, but Kolya was embarrassed to remember it, and the general forgot forever.

This meeting took place two years ago, when Kolya - still a civilian, but already with a haircut for a typewriter - had just arrived from the station to the school along with other haircuts. Right on the parade ground, they unloaded their suitcases, and the mustachioed foreman (the one they were trying to beat after the banquet) ordered everyone to go to the bathhouse. They all went - still without a line, in a herd, talking loudly and laughing - and Kolya hesitated, because he rubbed his leg and sat barefoot. While he was putting on his shoes, everyone had already disappeared around the corner. Kolya jumped up, was about to rush after him, but then he was suddenly called out:

- Where are you, young man?

The thin, short general looked at him angrily.

- The army is here, and orders in it are carried out unquestioningly. You are ordered to guard the property, so guard it until the change comes or the order is canceled.

Nobody gave the order to Kolya, but Kolya no longer doubted that this order seemed to exist by itself. And therefore, clumsily stretching out and shouting in a strangled voice: "Yes, Comrade General!" - stayed with the suitcases.

And the guys, as if it were a sin, have failed somewhere. Then it turned out that after the bath they received cadet uniforms, and the foreman took them to the tailor's shop, so that everyone would fit the clothes to the figure. All this took a lot of time, and Kolya obediently stood near the things no one needed. He stood and was extremely proud of it, as if he were guarding an ammunition depot. And no one paid attention to him until two gloomy cadets came for things, who received extraordinary outfits for yesterday's AWOL.

- I won't let you in! - Kolya shouted. - Do not dare to approach! ..

- What? One of the penalties asked rather rudely. - Now I will give it in the neck ...

- Back! - Pluzhnikov shouted enthusiastically. - I'm a sentry! I order!..

Naturally, he did not have a weapon, but he yelled so much that the cadets, just in case, decided not to get involved. They went for the senior along the line, but Kolya did not obey him either and demanded either a change or a cancellation. And since there was no change and could not be, they began to find out who had appointed him to this post. However, Kolya refused to enter into conversations and made a noise until the officer on duty at the school appeared. The red bandage worked, but after passing the post, Kolya did not know where to go and what to do. And the duty officer did not know either, but when they figured it out, the bathhouse had already closed, and Kolya had to live another day as a civilian, but then incur the vengeful wrath of the foreman ...

And today I had to meet with the general for the third time. Kolya wanted this and was desperately cowardly, because he believed in mysterious rumors about the general's participation in the Spanish events. And having believed, he could not help but be afraid of the eyes, which quite recently saw real fascists and real battles.

Finally the door opened and the commissar beckoned him with a finger. Kolya hastily tugged at his tunic, licked his suddenly dry lips and stepped behind the deaf curtains.

The entrance was opposite the official one, and Kolya found himself behind the stooped general's back. This somewhat embarrassed him, and he did not shout the report as clearly as he had hoped. The general listened and pointed to a chair in front of the table. Kolya sat down, putting his hands on his knees and straightening unnaturally. The general looked at him attentively, put on his glasses (Kolya was extremely upset when he saw these glasses ...) and began to read some sheets of paper that were filed into a red folder: Kolya did not yet know what exactly he, Lieutenant Pluzhnikov, looked like, a private matter.

- All fives - and one three? - the general was surprised. - Why three?

“Three in software,” said Kolya, blushing as thickly as a girl. - I will retake, comrade general.

“No, Comrade Lieutenant, it's late already,” the general grinned.

“Excellent characteristics on the part of the Komsomol and on the part of comrades,” the commissar said quietly.

“Uh-huh,” the general confirmed, plunging back into reading.

The commissar went to the open window, lit a cigarette and smiled at Kolya, like an old acquaintance. Kolya responded by politely moving his lips and once again staring intently at the general's bridge of the nose.

- And you, it turns out, shoot great? The general asked. - The prize is, one might say, a shooter.

“He defended the honor of the school,” the commissioner confirmed.

- Perfectly! The general closed the red folder, pushed it aside and took off his glasses. - We have a proposal for you, Comrade Lieutenant.

Kolya readily leaned forward, not saying a word. After the post of commissioner for footcloths, he no longer hoped for intelligence.

“We suggest that you stay at the school as the commander of a training platoon,” said the general. - Responsible position. What year are you?

- I was born on the twelfth of April one thousand nine hundred and twenty-two! - Kolya rattled off.

He spoke mechanically, because he feverishly pondered what to do. Of course, the proposed position was extremely honorable for yesterday's graduate, but Kolya could not suddenly jump up and shout like this: "With pleasure, Comrade General!" I could not because the commander - he was firmly convinced of this - becomes a real commander only after serving in the troops, having sipped with the soldiers from the same pot, having learned to command them. And he wanted to become such a commander, and therefore went to the combined-arms school, when everyone raved about aviation or, in extreme cases, tanks.

“In three years, you will have the right to enter the academy,” the general continued. - And apparently, you should study further.

- We will even give you the right to choose, - the commissioner smiled. - Well, in whose company do you want: to Gorobtsov or to Velichko?

“He's probably tired of Gorobtsov,” the general grinned.

Kolya wanted to say that he was not at all tired of Gorobtsov, that he was an excellent commander, but all this was useless, because he, Nikolai Pluzhnikov, was not going to stay at the school. He needs a unit, soldiers, the platoon's sweaty strap - everything that is called the short word "service". So he wanted to say, but the words got confused in his head, and Kolya suddenly began to blush again.

“You can light a cigarette, Comrade Lieutenant,” the general said, hiding a smile. - Have a smoke, consider the proposal ...

- It won't work, - the regimental commissar sighed. - He doesn't smoke, that's bad luck.

“I don’t smoke,” Kolya confirmed and cleared his throat carefully. - Comrade General, may I?

- I'm listening, listening.

- Comrade General, I thank you, of course, and thank you very much for your trust. I understand that this is a great honor for me, but all the same, let me refuse, Comrade General.

- Why? The regimental commissar frowned and stepped from the window. - What's the news, Pluzhnikov?

The general looked at him in silence. He looked with obvious interest, and Kolya cheered up:

- I believe that every commander should first serve in the troops, Comrade General. So we were told in the school, and the comrade regimental commissar himself at the gala evening also said that only in a military unit one can become a real commander.

The commissar coughed in confusion and returned to the window. The general was still looking at Kolya.

- And therefore, thank you very much, of course, Comrade General, - therefore I very much ask you: please send me to the unit. Any part and any position.

Kolya fell silent, and there was a pause in the office. However, neither the general nor the commissar noticed her, but Kolya felt how she was stretching, and was very embarrassed.

- I, of course, understand, Comrade General, that ...

“But he’s a good fellow, commissar,” the chief suddenly said cheerfully. - Good fellow you, lieutenant, by God, good fellow!

And the commissar suddenly laughed and slapped Kolya firmly on the shoulder:

- Thank you for the memory, Pluzhnikov!

And all three smiled as if they had found a way out of an uncomfortable situation.

- So, to the unit?

- To the unit, comrade general.

- Won't you change your mind? - The chief suddenly switched to "you" and did not change the address.

- And all the same, where will they send? The commissioner asked. - And what about the mother, sister? .. He has no father, comrade general.

- I know. - The general hid a smile, looked seriously, drummed his fingers on the red folder. - Special Western suit, Lieutenant?

Kolya turned pink: they dreamed of service in the Special Districts as an unthinkable success.

- Do you agree as a platoon leader?

- Comrade General! .. - Kolya jumped up and immediately sat down, remembering the discipline. - Thank you very much, comrade general! ..

“But on one condition,” the general said very seriously. - I give you, Lieutenant, a year of military practice. And exactly one year later, I will ask you back, at the school, for the position of the commander of a training platoon. Agree?

- I agree, comrade general. If you order ...

- We will order, we will order! - the commissar laughed. - We need such non-smoking passion.

“There’s only one nuisance here, Lieutenant: you’re not getting a vacation.” Maximum on Sunday you should be in the part.

“Yes, you don’t have to stay with your mother in Moscow,” smiled the commissar. - Where does she live there?

- At Ostozhenka ... That is, now it is called Metrostroyevskaya.

- On Ostozhenka ... - the general sighed and, standing up, held out his hand to Kolya: - Well, happy to serve, lieutenant. I'm waiting in a year, remember!

The warehouse, in which at dawn on June 22, Sergeant Major Stepan Matveyevich, senior sergeant Fedorchuk, Red Army soldier Vasya Volkov and three women were drinking tea, was covered with a heavy shell in the first minutes of artillery preparation. The shell exploded over the entrance, the ceilings withstood, but the staircase collapsed, cutting off the only way up - the path to salvation, as they believed then. Pluzhnikov remembered this shell: the blast wave threw him into a fresh funnel, where later, when he had already regained consciousness, Salnikov tumbled into. But for him this shell exploded from behind, and for them - in front, and their paths parted for a long time.

The whole war for them, walled up alive in a deaf casemate, was now going on above. Old, meter-long masonry walls were shaking from it, the warehouse was filled up with new layers of sand and broken bricks, the vents collapsed. They were cut off from their own people and from the whole world, but they had food, and on the second day they got water from the well. The men broke the floor, dug it, and up to two pots accumulated there in a day. There was what to eat, what to drink and what to do: they pounded the walls at random in all directions, hoping to dig a passage to the surface or penetrate into neighboring dungeons. These passages collapsed during the next bombing, and they dug again and once made their way into the intricate labyrinth of underground corridors, dead ends and deaf casemates. From there we made our way into the armory, the exit from which was also walled up by a direct hit, and into the distant compartment, from where a narrow hole led upward.

For the first time in many days, they climbed up: buried alive, they frantically strove for freedom, air, their own. One by one, they crawled out of the dungeon - all six of them - and froze, not daring to take a step from the gap that, as it seemed to them, led to life and salvation.

The fortress was still alive. In some places, near the ring barracks, on the other side of Mukhavets and behind the church, there was still shooting, something else was burning and collapsing. But here, in the center, it was quiet that night. And unrecognizable. And there was no one of our own, no air, no freedom.

Hana, - croaked Fedorchuk.

Aunt Christya was crying, collecting tears like a peasant in the corner of her headscarf. Mirra clung to her, spasms choking her from the stench of the corpse. And only Anna Petrovna, glancing dryly with her eyes burning even in the dark, silently walked across the courtyard.

Anya! Stepan Matveyevich called out. - Where are you, Anya?

Children. She turned around for a second. - The kids are there. My kids.

Anna Petrovna left, and they, confused and depressed, returned to the dungeon.

Intelligence is needed, - said the foreman. - Where to go, where are they, ours?

Where is the intelligence, where? - Fedorchuk sighed. - The Germans are all around.

And the mother walked, stumbling over the corpses, with dry eyes, already touched by madness, peering into the purple reflection of the missiles. And no one called out to her and stopped, because she was walking along the area already abandoned by ours, already blown up by German sappers and reared by the bombing for many days. She passed the three-arched gate and climbed onto the bridge - still slippery with blood, still littered with corpses - and fell here, among her own, in three places, shot through by a random burst. She fell as she walked: straight and stern, stretching out her hands to the children who had long been dead.

But no one knew about this. Neither those who remained in the dungeons, let alone Lieutenant Pluzhnikov.

Recovering himself, he demanded bullets. And when through the cracks in the walls, through an underground manhole, he was led into the warehouse - the warehouse where Salnikov had fled in the first hours of the war - and he saw brand new, grease-dull PPSh, full discs and sealed, untouched zinc, he could hardly hold back his tears ... That weapon, for which so many nights they paid with the lives of their comrades, lay now in front of him, and he did not expect and did not want more happiness. He made everyone clean their weapons, remove the lubricant, prepare for battle, and everyone frantically wiped the barrels and bolts infected with his furious energy.

By evening everything was ready: machine guns, spare discs, zinc with cartridges. Everything was transferred to a dead end under the crack, where during the day he lay gasping, not believing in his own salvation and listening to the steps. He took all the men with him: each, except for weapons and ammunition, carried a flask of water from Stepan Matveyevich's well. The women stayed here.

Let's go back, ”said Pluzhnikov.

He spoke briefly and angrily, and they silently obeyed him. Some with respect and readiness, some with fear, some with poorly hidden displeasure, but no one dared to object. This overgrown lieutenant, black with hunger and insomnia, in a tattered, bloody tunic, was very terrible. Only once did the foreman quietly intervene:

Take everything away. Rusk for him and a glass of boiling water.

This is when the compassionate Aunt Christa dragged everything that she took care of for a rainy day onto the wooden table. Hunger spasms gripped Pluzhnikov's throat, and he went to this table, stretching out his hands. He went to eat everything, everything he saw, to fill his stomach to capacity, to finally drown out the convulsions from which he repeatedly rolled on the ground, gnawing at his sleeve so as not to scream. But the foreman firmly took his hands, barred the table.

Take it away, Yanovna. You can't, Comrade Lieutenant. You will die. Little by little it is necessary. The belly must be taught anew.

Pluzhnikov restrained himself. He swallowed a convulsive lump, saw Mirra's round eyes full of tears, tried to smile, realized that he had forgotten how to smile, and turned away.

Even before the sortie to his own, as soon as it got dark, he, together with a young, frightened silent fighter Vasya Volkov, cautiously crawled out of the crack. I lay there for a long time, listening to the distant shooting, catching the sounds of footsteps, conversation, the clash of weapons. But it was quiet here.

Behind me. And take your time: listen first. They climbed all the craters, checked every blockage, felt every corpse. Salnikov was not there.

Alive, - said Pluzhnikov with relief, when they went down to their own. - They took them prisoner: they do not bury our dead.

Nevertheless, he felt guilty: guilty not by reason, but by conscience. He had not fought for the first day and already well understood that war has its own laws, its own morality, and that what is considered unacceptable in a peaceful life is simply a necessity in battle. But, realizing that he could not save Salnikov, that he had to, he was obliged - not to himself, no! - in front of those who sent him on this search, - to try to leave and left, Pluzhnikov was very afraid to find Salnikov dead. And the Germans took him prisoner, and, therefore, there was still a chance that the lucky, cheerful Salnikov would survive, get out, and maybe even run away. During the days and nights of endless battles, from a frightened boy with a scratched cheek, he grew into a desperate, smart, cunning and resourceful fighter. And Pluzhnikov sighed with relief:

They dragged a lot of weapons and ammunition to a dead end under the gap: the breakthrough had to be provided with firepower unexpected for the enemy. It was not possible to transfer everything to his own people at once, and Pluzhnikov hoped to return that very night. Therefore, he told the women that he would return, but the closer the time of the sortie approached, the more Pluzhnikov began to get nervous. There remained one more issue to be resolved, to resolve without delay, but Pluzhnikov did not know how to approach it.

Women could not be taken with them to a breakthrough: this task was too dangerous and difficult even for the fired upon fighters. But it was impossible to leave them here to fend for themselves, and Pluzhnikov all the time painfully searched for a way out. But no matter how he thought, there was only one way out.

You stay here, ”he said, trying not to meet the girl’s gaze. - Tomorrow afternoon - the Germans have lunch from fourteen to sixteen, the quietest time - tomorrow you will go upstairs with white rags. And surrender yourself.

Captured? Mirra asked quietly and incredulously.

What else he invented! - Without giving him an answer, Aunt Christa said loudly and indignantly. - In captivity - something else invented! Who needs me, old woman, in captivity? And the girl? - She hugged Mirra, hugged her. - With a dry leg, on a piece of wood? .. Let it be for you, Comrade Lieutenant, to invent!

I won't make it, ”Mirra said barely audibly, and for some reason Pluzhnikov immediately realized that she was not talking about the way to the Germans, but about the way these Germans would drive her prisoner.

Therefore, he immediately did not find what to argue, and gloomily remained silent, agreeing and disagreeing with the arguments of the women.

Look what you invented! - Aunt Christya continued in a different tone, now as if surprised. - Your decision is worthless, even though you are the commander. It’s not good at all.

You can't stay here, ”he said uncertainly. - And there was an order from the command, all the women left ...

So they were a burden to you, that's why they left! And I will leave if I feel that I am a burden. And now, now, sonny, who are we here with Mirrochka interfering with in our hole? Yes, no one, fight for your health! And we have a place and food, and we are not a burden to anyone, and we will sit here until ours return.

Pluzhnikov was silent. He did not want to say that the Germans every day report about the capture of more and more cities, about the battles near Moscow and Leningrad, about the defeat of the Red Army. He did not believe the German speeches, but he had not heard the roar of our guns for a long time,

The little girl is a Jew, ”Fedorchuk said suddenly. - A young woman and a cripple: they will slam her, how to give her a drink.

Don't you dare say that! - shouted Pluzhnikov. - This is their word, theirs! This is a fascist word!

It’s not a matter of words, ”the foreman sighed. - The word, of course, is not a good one, but only Fedorchuk speaks the truth. They do not like the Jewish nation.

I know! Pluzhnikov snapped sharply. - Understood. Everything. You will stay. Maybe they will withdraw the troops from the fortress, then leave. Somehow.

He made a decision, but was unhappy with it. And the more I thought about it, the more I internally protested, but I could not offer anything else. Therefore, he gloomily gave the command, gloomily promised to return for ammunition, gloomily climbed up after the quiet Vasya Volkov sent to reconnaissance.

Volkov was an executive lad, but he preferred sleep to all earthly joys and used every opportunity for him. Having survived the horror in the first minutes of the war - the horror of the buried alive - he still managed to suppress it in himself, but became even more imperceptible and even more fulfilling. He decided to rely on his elders in everything, and the sudden appearance of the lieutenant was greeted with great relief. He did not understand very well what this dirty, ragged, thin commander was angry with, but he was firmly convinced that from now on it was this commander who was responsible for his, Volkov's, life.

He diligently fulfilled everything that was ordered: he quietly climbed up, listened, looked around, found no one and began to actively pull weapons and ammunition out of the hole.

And the German submachine gunners passed by. They did not notice Volkov, and he, having noticed them, did not follow where they were going, and did not even report, because this was beyond the scope of the assignment he received. The Germans were not interested in their shelter, they went somewhere on their own business, and their path was free. And while he was pulling zinc and machine guns out of the narrow manhole, until everyone got to the surface, the Germans had already passed, and Pluzhnikov, no matter how he listened, found nothing suspicious. Somewhere they fired, somewhere they threw mines, somewhere they shone brightly with rockets, but the ruined center of the citadel was deserted.

Volkov is with me, the sergeant major and the sergeant are the last. Fast forward.

Bending down, they moved to the dark distant ruins, where their own were still holding, where Denishchik was dying, where the sergeant had three discs left to "tar". And at that moment in the ruins a bright white flame flashed, a roar came, followed by short and dry bursts of machine-gun fire.

Blown up! - shouted Pluzhnikov. - The Germans blew up the wall!

Quiet, comrade lieutenant, quiet! Come to your senses!

Let me go! There are guys, there are no cartridges, there are wounded ...

Where to let something, where?

Pluzhnikov struggled, trying to free himself from under the heavy, strong body. But Stepan Matveyevich held on tight and let go only when Pluzhnikov stopped torn.

It's too late, Comrade Lieutenant, ”he sighed. - Late. Listen.

The battle in the ruins died down. In some places, German machine guns were still rarely beaten: either they shot through the dark compartments, or finished off the defenders, but there was no return fire, no matter how Pluzhnikov listened. And the machine gun that fired in the dark in response to his voice also fell silent, and Pluzhnikov realized that he had not had time, that he had not fulfilled the last order.

He was still on the ground, still hoping, still listening to the now very rare queues. He did not know what to do, where to go, where to look for his own. And the foreman was silently lying beside him and also did not know where to go and what to do.

Bypass. - Fedorchuk tugged at the foreman. - Cut off more. Did they kill this, or what?

Pluzhnikov did not protest. Silently descended into the dungeon, silently lay down. They said something to him, calmed him down, laid him down more comfortably, gave him tea. He obediently turned, got up, lay down, drank what was given - and was silent. Even when the girl, covering him with an overcoat, said:

This is your greatcoat, Comrade Lieutenant. Yours, remember?

Yes, it was his greatcoat. Brand new, with gilded command buttons, fitted to the figure. The overcoat, which he was so proud of and which he never wore. He recognized her at once, but said nothing: he didn't care anymore.

He did not know how many days he lay like this, without words, thoughts and movement, and did not want to know. Day and night in the dungeon there was a grave silence, day and night the fat bowls shone dimly, day and night, behind the yellow faint light, darkness was on duty, viscous and impenetrable, like death. And Pluzhnikov stared into her. I looked into the death of which I was guilty.

With amazing clarity he saw them all now. All those who, covering him, rushed forward, rushed without hesitation, without hesitation, moved by something incomprehensible, incomprehensible to him. And Pluzhnikov did not try to understand now why all of them - all those who died through his fault - acted exactly this way: he simply passed them before his eyes again, he just peered slowly, attentively and mercilessly.

He hesitated then at the vaulted window of the church, from which machine gun fires fired unbearably brightly. No, not because he was confused, not because he was gathering strength: it was his window, that's the whole reason. This was his window, he himself had chosen it even before the attack, but it was not he who rushed into his window, into his death beating towards him, but that tall border guard with an uncooled light machine gun. And then - already dead - he continued to cover Pluzhnikov from bullets, and his thickened blood beat Pluzhnikov in the face as a reminder.

And in the morning he fled from the church. He ran, leaving the sergeant with a bandaged head. And this sergeant remained, although he was at the very break. He could leave and - did not leave, did not retreat, did not hide, and Pluzhnikov then ran to the basements only because the sergeant remained in the church. Just like Volodka Denishchik, who covered him with his chest in a night attack on the bridge. Just like Salnikov, who knocked the German down when Pluzhnikov had already surrendered, no longer thought about resistance, was already hiccuping with fear, humbly raising both hands into the sky. As well as those to whom he promised patrons and did not bring them on time.

He lay motionless on the bench under his own greatcoat, ate when they gave him, drank when they brought the mug to his mouth. And he was silent, not answering questions. And I didn't even think: I just counted the debts.

He survived only because someone died for him. He made this discovery, not realizing that this is the law of war. Simple and necessary, like death: if you survived, then someone died for you. But he discovered this law not in an abstract way, not by reasoning: he discovered it on his own experience, and for him it was not a matter of conscience, but a matter of life.

The lieutenant has started, - said Fedorchuk, caring little whether Pluzhnikov hears him or not. - Well, what are we going to do? We have to think for ourselves, Chief.

The foreman was silent, but Fedorchuk was already acting. And the first thing he did was diligently bricked up the only crack that led upstairs. He wanted to live, not fight. Just live. To live while there is food and this is a deaf underground, unknown to the Germans.

He is weak, - the foreman sighed. - Our lieutenant is weak. You feed him little by little, Yanovna.

Aunt Christya fed, crying with pity, but Stepan Matveyevich, having given this advice, did not believe in it himself, he himself understood that the lieutenant was weakened not by his body, but broken, and he did not know what to do about it.

And only Mirra knew what to do: she had to, it was necessary to bring this man back to life, make him speak, act, smile. For this, she brought him an overcoat, which everyone had long forgotten about. And for the sake of this, she, alone, without explaining anything to anyone, patiently dismantled the bricks that had fallen from the door arch.

Well, what are you banging there for? - Fedorchuk grumbled. - There have been no landslides for a long time, did you miss? You have to live quietly.

She silently continued digging and on the third day triumphantly pulled out a dirty, crumpled suitcase from under the rubble. The one that I have been looking for so hard and for a long time.

Here! - She said happily, dragging him to the table. - I remembered that he was at the door.

Look what you were looking for, ”sighed Aunt Christya. - Oh, girl, girl, at the wrong time your heart shuddered.

You cannot order your heart, as they say, but only in vain, ”said Stepan Matveyevich. - He would have forgotten everything just right: he remembers too much already.

An extra shirt will not hurt, - said Fedorchuk. - Well, carry it, what are you standing for? Maybe she will smile, although I doubt it.

Pluzhnikov did not smile. I slowly examined everything that my mother had packed before leaving: underwear, a pair of summer uniforms, photographs. Closed the curve, squeezed lid.

These are your things. Yours, ”Mirra said quietly.

I remember.

And turned to the wall.

That's all, - Fedorchuk sighed. - Now, for sure - that's it. The boy is over.

And he swore long and hard. And no one pulled him back.

Well, foreman, are we going to do it? It is necessary to decide: lie in this grave or in another, which one?

What to decide? - Aunt Christa said uncertainly. - It's already decided: we'll wait.

What? - shouted Fedorchuk. - What are we waiting for? Of death? Winters? Germans? What, I ask?

We will wait for the Red Army, ”said Mirra.

Red? .. - Fedorchuk asked mockingly. - Stupid! Here it is, your Red Army: lies without memory. Everything! Defeat her! Defeat to her, is that clear?

He shouted for everyone to hear and everyone to hear, but were silent. And Pluzhnikov also heard and was also silent. He had already decided everything, thought everything over and now patiently waited for everyone to fall asleep. He learned to wait.

When all was quiet, when the sergeant-major was snoring, and two of the three bowls were extinguished for the night, Pluzhnikov got up. I sat for a long time, listening to the breathing of the sleeping people and waiting for my head to stop spinning. Then he put the pistol in his pocket, silently walked to the shelf where the torches prepared by the foreman lay, took one and, without lighting it, groped his way to the manhole that led to the underground corridors. He did not know them well and did not hope to get out without light.

He did not blur out anything, did not creak, he knew how to move silently in the dark and was sure that no one would wake up and would not interfere with him. He considered everything in detail, he weighed everything, drew a line under everything, and the result that he received under this line meant his unfulfilled debt. And there was only one thing he could not take into account: a man who had already slept with half an eye for many nights, listening to his breathing just as he listened to the breathing of others today.

Through a narrow manhole Pluzhnikov got out into the corridor and lit a torch: from here its light could no longer penetrate into the casemate where the people were sleeping. Holding the torch above his head, he walked slowly down the corridors, chasing the rats away. It is strange that they still frightened him, and therefore he did not extinguish the torch, although he had already got his bearings and knew where to go.

He came to a dead end, into which he tumbled, fleeing the Germans: cartridge zinc still lay here. He lifted a torch, lit it, but the hole was densely packed with bricks. He shook: the bricks did not give in. Then he fixed the torch in the rubble and began to swing the bricks with both hands. He managed to knock out several pieces, but the rest sat tight: Fedorchuk did a great job.

Having found out that the entrance was blocked up firmly, Pluzhnikov stopped his senseless attempts. He really didn’t want to do what he decided here, in the dungeon, because these people lived here. They could misinterpret his decision, consider it the result of weakness or mental breakdown, and this was unpleasant for him. He would rather just disappear. Disappear without explanation, go nowhere, but he was deprived of this opportunity. This means that they will have to think what they want, they will have to discuss his death, they will have to fiddle with his body. It will have to, because the blocked exit did not in the least shake him in the justice of the sentence that he himself had passed.

Thinking so, he took out his pistol, twitched the bolt, hesitated for a moment, not knowing where to shoot, and raised it to his chest: after all, he did not want to wallow here with a shattered skull. With his left hand he felt for his heart: it beat fast, but evenly, almost calmly. He removed his hand and raised the pistol, trying to make the barrel exactly rested against the heart ...

If she had shouted any other word - even in the same voice, ringing with fear. Any other word - and he would have pulled the trigger. But what she shouted was from there, from that world where the world was, but here, here, there was not and could not be a woman who would shout his name so terribly and invitingly. And he involuntarily dropped his hand, dropped it to see who was shouting it. I let it down just for a second, but she, dragging her leg, managed to run.

Kolya! Kolya, don't! Ringlet, dear!

Her legs did not hold her, and she fell, clinging with all her strength to the hand in which he held the pistol. She pressed her face wet from tears to his hand, kissed the dirty sleeve of her tunic, smelling of gunpowder and death, she squeezed his hand into her own chest, squeezed, forgetting about bashfulness, instinctively feeling that there, in the girlish elastic warmth, he would not pull the trigger ...

Drop it. Give it up. I won't let go. Then shoot me first. Shoot me.

The thick yellow light of the tallow-soaked tow illuminated them. Humpbacked shadows darted over the vaults that disappeared into the gloom, and Pluzhnikov could hear her heart beating.

Why are you here? he asked longingly. Mirra lifted her face for the first time: the light of the torch split in tears.

You are the Red Army, she said. You are my Red Army. How can you? How can you leave me? For what?

He was not embarrassed by the beauty of her words: something else embarrassed him. It turns out that someone needed him, someone else needed him. Needed as a defender, as a friend, as a comrade.

Let go of your hand.

Drop the gun first.

He's on the alert. Maybe a shot.

Pluzhnikov helped Mirra up. She rose, but still stood close, ready every second to intercept his hand. He chuckled, snapped the safety catch on, pulled the trigger and put the pistol in his pocket. And he took the torch.

She walked beside her, holding her hand. She stopped near the manhole:

I will not tell anyone. Even Aunt Christ.

He silently stroked her head. How small. And put out the torch in the sand.

Goodnight! - Mirra whispered, diving into the hole.

Following her, Pluzhnikov climbed into the casemate, where the foreman was still snoring powerfully and smoking a bowl. He went up to his bench, covered himself with his greatcoat, wanted to think about what to do next, and fell asleep. Strong and calm.

In the morning Pluzhnikov got up with everyone. He removed everything from the bench, on which he lay for so many days, looking at one point.

Are you on the mend, Comrade Lieutenant? the foreman asked with a disbelieving smile.

Is there water? At least three circles.

There is water, there is! - Stepan Matveyevich fussed about.

Pour it on me, Volkov. - Pluzhnikov for the first time in many days tore off his rotted tunic, put on a naked body: the shirt has long gone into bandages. He took out a change of linen, soap, and a towel from a squeezed suitcase. - Mirra, sew me a collar to my summer tunic.

I got out into the underground passage, washed myself for a long time, diligently, all the time thinking that he was wasting water, and for the first time consciously not sparing this water. He returned and, just as silently, carefully and clumsily shaved with a brand new razor, bought at the military school not out of need, but as a reserve. He rubbed his thin face cut with an unaccustomed razor with cologne, put on the tunic that Mirra had brought in, tightened his belt tightly. He sat down at the table - a thin boyish neck protruded from the collar, which had become prohibitively wide.

Report.

We looked at each other. The foreman asked uncertainly:

What to report?

Everything. - Pluzhnikov spoke harshly and briefly: he chopped. - Where are ours, where is the enemy.

So this ... - The foreman hesitated. - The enemy is known where: above. And ours ... Ours is unknown.

Why is it unknown?

We know where ours are, ”Fedorchuk said gloomily. - At the bottom. The Germans are above, and ours are below.

Pluzhnikov ignored his words. He spoke to the foreman, as with his deputy, and emphasized this in every possible way.

Why don't you know where ours are?

Stepan Matveyevich sighed guiltily:

No reconnaissance was carried out.

I guess. I ask why?

But how to say. You were sick. And we laid the way out.

Who laid it down?

The foreman said nothing. Aunt Christya wanted to clarify something, but Mirra stopped her.

I ask who laid it down?

Well, I! - said Fedorchuk loudly.

Did not understand.

I don’t understand again, ”Pluzhnikov said in the same tone, not looking at the senior sergeant.

Senior Sergeant Fedorchuk.

So, Comrade Senior Sergeant, in an hour, report to me that the way up is clear.

I won't work during the day.

In an hour, report on the execution, ”repeated Pluzhnikov. - And I order to forget the words “I will not”, “I do not want” or “I cannot”. Forget it until the end of the war. We are a unit of the Red Army. An ordinary subdivision, that's all.

An hour ago, when he woke up, he did not know what to say, but he understood that he was obliged to speak. He deliberately delayed this minute - a minute that was supposed to either put everything in its place, or deprive him of the right to command these people. Therefore, he started washing, changing clothes, shaving: he thought and prepared for this conversation. He was preparing to continue the war, and there was no longer any doubt or hesitation in him. Everything remained there, in yesterday, which he was destined to survive.

That day Fedorchuk fulfilled Pluzhnikov's order: the way up was clear. During the night they conducted a thorough reconnaissance in two pairs: Pluzhnikov was walking with the Red Army soldier Volkov, Fedorchuk with the foreman. The fortress was still alive, it still snapped at rare outbreaks of firefights, but these firefights broke out far from them, beyond Mukhavets, and it was not possible to establish contact with anyone. Both groups returned without meeting either theirs or strangers.

Some beaten, - Stepan Matveyevich sighed. - Our brother has been beaten a lot. Oh, a lot!

Pluzhnikov repeated the search in the afternoon. He did not really count on contact with his own people, realizing that the scattered groups of the surviving defenders retreated into deep dungeons. But he had to find the Germans, determine their location, communications, ways of moving around the destroyed fortress. I had to, otherwise their excellent and super-reliable position turned out to be simply meaningless.

He himself went to this intelligence. I got to the Terespol Gate, hid for a day in the neighboring ruins. The Germans entered the fortress precisely through these gates: regularly, every morning, at the same time. And in the evening they left just as neatly, leaving reinforced guards. Apparently, the tactics did not change: they no longer tried to attack, but, having found pockets of resistance, blocked them and called in flamethrowers. And even in height, these Germans looked shorter than those with whom Pluzhnikov had encountered so far, and they had clearly fewer machine guns: carbines had become more common weapons.

Either I grew up, or the Germans cringed, ”Pluzhnikov joked gloomily in the evening. “Something has changed in them, but I don’t understand what. We'll come with you tomorrow, Stepan Matveyevich. I want you to have a look too.

Together with the foreman they moved into the burnt and crushed boxes of the 84th regiment's barracks in the dark: Stepan Matveyevich knew these barracks well. Arranged in advance almost with conveniences. Pluzhnikov watched the banks of the Bug, the foreman - for the inner section of the fortress near the Kholmsky Gate.

The morning was clear and quiet: only sometimes feverish fire broke out suddenly somewhere on the Kobrin fortification, near the outer ramparts. It suddenly flared up, just as suddenly it stopped, and Pluzhnikov could not understand in any way whether the Germans were shooting at the casemates just in case, or the last groups of defenders of the fortress were holding somewhere else.

Comrade Lieutenant! the foreman called in a tense whisper.

Pluzhnikov got over to him, looked out: a line of German submachine gunners was lining up quite nearby. And their appearance, and their weapons, and their manner of behaving - the manner of seasoned soldiers, to whom much is forgiven - everything was quite ordinary. The Germans did not shrink, did not become smaller, they remained the same as their Lieutenant Pluzhnikov remembered for the rest of his life.

Three officers were approaching the line. A short command sounded, the line stretched out, the commander reported to the one walking first: the tall and middle-aged, apparently the eldest. The elder took the report and walked slowly along the frozen formation. The officers followed; one held the boxes, which the elder handed to the stalking soldiers.

Gives out orders, - realized Pluzhnikov. - Awards on the battlefield. Oh you, you German bastard, I'll show you the awards ...

He forgot now that he was not alone, that he had not gone out for battle, that the ruins of the barracks behind him were a very uncomfortable position. He remembered now those for whom the crosses were received by these tall guys, frozen in the parade line. I remembered the dead, those who had died of wounds that had gone mad. He remembered and raised the machine gun.

Short bursts struck almost point-blank, from a dozen steps. The senior officer issuing the awards fell, both of his assistants fell, one of those just awarded. But these guys received orders for a reason: their confusion was instantaneous, and before Pluzhnikov's line had ceased, the formation disintegrated, took cover and hit the ruins from all machine guns.

If it were not for the foreman, they would not have left alive then: the Germans became furious, were not afraid of anyone and quickly closed the ring. But Stepan Matveyevich knew these premises from his peaceful life and managed to get Pluzhnikov out. Taking advantage of the shooting, running and confusion, they made their way through the courtyard and ducked into their hole, when German machine gunners were still shooting through every nook and cranny in the ruins of the barracks.

The German has not changed. - Pluzhnikov tried to laugh, but a wheeze escaped from his dry throat, and he immediately stopped smiling. “If it weren't for you, Chief, I would have had a hard time.

Only the foremen knew about that door to the regiment, ”Stepan Matveyevich sighed. - Here it is, which means it came in handy.

With difficulty he pulled off his boot: the footcloth was swollen with blood. Aunt Christya screamed and waved her hands.

It's a trifle, Yanovna, - said the foreman. - Meat hooked, I feel. And the bone is intact. The bone is intact, this is the main thing: the hole will be overgrown.

Well, why is it? Fedorchuk asked irritably. - We shot, ran - and why? What, the war will end sooner from this, or what? We will sooner end, not war. The war, it will end in its hour, but here we are ...

He was silent, and then everyone was silent. They kept silent because they were full of victorious triumph and battle excitement, and they simply did not want to argue with the gloomy senior sergeant.

And on the fourth day Fedorchuk disappeared. He really didn’t want to go into secrets, he volunteered, and Pluzhnikov had to shout.

Okay, I'm going, I'm going, ”the senior sergeant grumbled. - We need these observations, how ...

They went into secrets for the whole day: from dark to dark. Pluzhnikov wanted to know everything he could about the enemy before proceeding to combat. Fedorchuk left at dawn, did not return either in the evening or at night, and the worried Pluzhnikov decided to look for no one knows where the senior sergeant had vanished.

Leave the machine, - he said to Volkov. - Take the carbine.

He himself walked with a machine gun, but it was on this sortie that he first ordered his partner to take a carbine. He did not believe in any premonitions, but ordered and did not regret it later, although it was inconvenient to crawl with a rifle, and Pluzhnikov kept hissing at the submissive Volkov so that he would not bryat and stick it out anywhere. But Pluzhnikov was angry not at all because of the rifle, but because they did not manage to find any traces of Sergeant Fedorchuk.

It was dawn when they entered the dilapidated tower above the Terespol Gate. Judging by previous observations, the Germans avoided climbing it, and Pluzhnikov hoped to calmly look around from a height and, perhaps, find the senior sergeant somewhere. Alive, wounded or dead, but - to discover and calm down, because the unknown was the worst of all.

Having ordered Volkov to keep the opposite bank and the bridge across the Bug under observation, Pluzhnikov carefully examined the fortress courtyard dug with craters. There were still many uncleaned corpses in it, and Pluzhnikov peered at each one for a long time, trying to determine from afar whether it was Fedorchuk. But Fedorchuk was still nowhere to be seen, and the corpses were old, already noticeably touched by decay.

Volkov breathed out this word so quietly that Pluzhnikov understood it only because he himself had been waiting for these Germans all the time. He moved carefully to the other side and looked out.

The Germans - about ten people - were standing on the opposite bank, near the bridge. They stood freely: they roared, laughed, waving their arms, looking somewhere on this shore. Pluzhnikov stretched out his neck, squinted his eyes, looked down, almost to the root of the tower, and saw what he was thinking about and what he was so afraid to see.

Fedorchuk walked from the tower to the Germans across the bridge. He walked, arms raised, and white gauze rags swayed in his fists in time with his heavy, confident steps. He went into captivity so calmly, so deliberately and unhurriedly, as if returning home after hard and tedious work. His whole being radiated such a devoted readiness to serve that the Germans understood him without words and waited with jokes and laughter, and their rifles hung peacefully over their shoulders.

Comrade Fedorchuk, - Volkov said in surprise. - Comrade Senior Sergeant ...

Comrade? .. - Pluzhnikov, without looking, demandingly held out his hand: - Rifle.

Volkov fussed as usual, but suddenly froze. And he swallowed loudly.

A rifle! Alive!

Fedorchuk was already approaching the Germans, and Pluzhnikov was in a hurry. He shot well, but right now, when it was impossible to miss in any way, he jerked the trigger too sharply. Too abruptly, because Fedorchuk had already passed the bridge, and he had four steps left to the Germans.

The bullet struck the ground behind the senior sergeant. Either the Germans did not hear a single shot, or they simply did not pay attention to it, but their behavior did not change. And for Fedorchuk, this shot that thundered behind his back was his shot: the shot that awaited his wide, suddenly damp back, tightly wrapped in a tunic. Hearing him, he jumped to the side, fell, rushed on all fours to the Germans, and the Germans, giggling and having fun, backed away from him, and he either dropped to the ground, now rushed, now crawled, now rose to his knees and pulled his hands to the Germans with with white gauze rags clenched in fists.

The second bullet found him in his lap. He leaned forward, he was still writhing, he was still crawling, he was still shouting something wildly and incomprehensibly. And the Germans still did not have time to understand anything, they were still laughing, making fun of the hefty peasant who so wanted to live. No one had time to figure out anything, because Pluzhnikov fired the next three shots, as in a school competition in high-speed shooting.

The Germans opened an indiscriminate return fire when Pluzhnikov and the confused Volkov were already below, in the empty destroyed casemates. Several mines exploded somewhere overhead. Volkov tried to hide in the crack, but Pluzhnikov lifted him, and they again ran somewhere, fell, crawled and managed to cross the courtyard and fall into the crater behind the padded armored car.

That's it, ”said Pluzhnikov breathlessly. - He's a bastard. Gadin. Traitor.

Volkov looked at him with round, frightened eyes and nodded hastily and incomprehensibly. And Pluzhnikov kept talking and talking, repeating the same thing:

Traitor. Gadin. Walked with a handkerchief, did you see? I found some neat gauze, probably stole it from Aunt Christie. I would sell everything for my filthy life, everything. And you and I would have sold. Viper. With a handkerchief, eh? Saw? Did you see how he walked, Volkov? He walked calmly, deliberately.

He wanted to speak out, just to speak the words. He killed enemies and never felt the need to explain it. And now he could not be silent. He did not feel remorse for having shot a man with whom he had sat at a common table more than once. On the contrary, he felt angry, joyful excitement and therefore spoke and spoke.

And the Red Army soldier of the first year of service Vasya Volkov, drafted into the army in May 1941, nodding obediently, listened to him, not hearing a single word. He had never been in combat, and for him even German soldiers were still people who could not be shot at, at least until ordered. And the first death that he saw was the death of a man with whom he, Vasya Volkov, lived so many days - the most terrible days in his short, quiet and calm life. It was this man that he knew best of all, because even before the war they served in the same regiment and slept in the same casemate. This man grudgingly taught him weapons-making, gave him tea and sugar, and let him sleep a little during boring army outfits.

And now this man was lying on the other side, lying on his face, his face buried in the ground and his arms outstretched with pieces of gauze held in place. Volkov did not want to think badly about Fedorchuk, although he did not understand why the senior sergeant was going to the Germans. Volkov believed that senior sergeant Fedorchuk could have his own reasons for such an act, and these reasons should be found out before shooting in the back. But this lieutenant - thin, terrible and incomprehensible - this alien lieutenant did not want to understand anything. From the very beginning, as he appeared with them, he began to threaten, frighten with execution, brandish his weapon.

Thinking so, Volkov felt nothing but loneliness, and this loneliness was painful and unnatural. It prevented Volkov from feeling like a man and a fighter, it stood like an insurmountable wall between him and Pluzhnikov. And Volkov was already afraid of his commander, did not understand him and therefore did not believe.

The Germans appeared in the fortress, passing through the Terespol Gate: a lot, up to a platoon. We went out in formation, but immediately scattered, combing the compartments of the circular barracks adjacent to the Terespol gate: soon explosions of grenades and tight exhalation of flamethrower volleys began to be heard from there. But Pluzhnikov did not have time to rejoice that the enemy was looking for him in the wrong direction, because another German detachment came out of the same gate. He left, immediately turned into a chain and went to the ruins of the barracks of the 333rd regiment. And there, too, explosions rumbled and flamethrowers swelled heavily.

It was this German detachment that, sooner or later, had to go to them. It was necessary to retreat immediately, but not to our own, not to the hole leading to the dungeons, because this section of the courtyard was easily visible by the enemy. They had to retreat into the depths, into the ruins of the barracks behind the church.

Pluzhnikov thoroughly explained to the soldier where and how to retreat. Volkov listened to everything with silent obedience, did not ask about anything, did not specify anything, did not even nod. Pluzhnikov did not like this, but he did not waste time asking questions. The fighter was unarmed (Pluzhnikov himself had abandoned his rifle there, in the tower), felt uncomfortable and, probably, was afraid. And to cheer him up, Pluzhnikov winked and even smiled, but the wink and the smile came out so strained that it could frighten even a more courageous one than Volkov.

Okay, we'll get you a weapon, ”Pluzhnikov grunted gloomily, hastily ceasing to smile. - I went ahead. Until the next funnel.

In short dashes they passed the open space and disappeared into the ruins. It was almost safe here, you could rest and look around.

They won't be found here, don't be afraid.

Pluzhnikov tried to smile again, and Volkov again remained silent. He was generally silent, and therefore Pluzhnikov was not surprised, but for some reason suddenly remembered about Salnikov. And he sighed.

Somewhere behind the ruins - not behind, where the German search groups remained, but ahead, where no Germans were supposed to be - there was a noise, vague voices, footsteps. Judging by the sounds, there were a lot of people there, they were not hiding already, therefore they could not be their own. Most likely, some other German detachment was moving here, and Pluzhnikov became wary, trying to understand where he was going. However, people did not appear anywhere, and the indistinct noise, the rumble of voices and shuffling continued, not approaching, but not moving away from them either.

Sit here, ”said Pluzhnikov. “Sit down and keep your head down until I get back.

And again Volkov said nothing. And again he looked with strange, strained eyes.

Wait, - repeated Pluzhnikov, catching this look.

He crept cautiously through the ruins. He made his way along the brick heaps, without moving a single fragment, ran across open places, often stopped, freezing and listening attentively. He walked towards strange noises, and these noises were now approaching, becoming clearer and clearer, and Pluzhnikov already guessed who was wandering there, on the other side of the ruins. I guessed it, but did not dare to believe it.

The last meters he crawled, scraping his knees on the sharp edges of brick fragments and petrified plaster. I looked for shelter, crawled, put the machine gun into combat platoon and looked out.

People worked in the fortress yard. They dragged half-decayed corpses into deep funnels, covered them with fragments of bricks and sand. Without examining, without collecting documents, without removing the medallions. Leisurely, tired and indifferent. And, not yet noticing the guards, Pluzhnikov realized that they were prisoners. He realized this while running, but for some reason he did not dare to believe his own guess, he was afraid to point-blank, with his own eyes, in three steps to see his own, Soviet, in a familiar, native form. Soviet, but no longer his own, already distant from him, the career lieutenant of the Red Army Pluzhnikov, with the ominous word "captivity".

He followed them for a long time. I watched them work: non-stop and indifferently, like automatic machines. I watched them walk: hunched over, shuffling their feet, as if they had suddenly grown three times older. I watched them stupidly stare in front of them, not even trying to orient themselves, to define themselves, to understand where they were. Watched the few guards looking at them lazily. I watched and could not understand in any way why these prisoners did not scatter, did not try to leave, hide, and regain freedom. Pluzhnikov could not find an explanation for this and even thought that the Germans were giving the prisoners some injections, which turned yesterday's active fighters into stupid performers who no longer dreamed of freedom and weapons. This assumption somehow reconciled him with what he saw with his own eyes, and that so contradicted his personal ideas about the honor and pride of a Soviet person.

Having explained to himself the strange passivity and strange obedience of the prisoners, Pluzhnikov began to look at them somewhat differently. He already pitied them, sympathized with them, as they pity and sympathize with those who are seriously ill. He thought about Salnikov, looked for him among those who worked, did not find him, and was delighted. He did not know whether Salnikov was alive or had already died, but he was not here, and, therefore, he was not turned into an obedient performer. But some other acquaintance - large, slow and diligent - was here, and Pluzhnikov, seeing him, all the time painfully strained his memory, trying to remember who he was.

And the tall prisoner, as luck would have it, walked alongside, two steps from Pluzhnikov, shoveling up brick chips with a huge shovel. He walked alongside, scratched with his shovel near his ear and still did not turn his face ...

However, Pluzhnikov recognized him as it is. Having learned, I suddenly recalled the battles in the church, and the night leaving, and the name of this soldier. He recalled that this soldier was a local attorney, that he regretted voluntarily joining the army in May instead of October, and that Salnikov then claimed that he had died in that sudden night firefight. All this Pluzhnikov remembered very clearly and, after waiting for the soldier to come back to his hole, called:

Prizhnyuk!

The broad back shuddered and bent even lower. And she froze, frightened and obedient.

This is me, Prizhnyuk, Lieutenant Pluzhnikov. Do you remember in the church?

The prisoner did not turn, did not show in any way that he hears the voice of his former commander. He simply bent over the shovel, exposing his broad, submissive back, tightly covered with a dirty, tattered tunic. This back was now full of expectation: it was so tense, so arched, so still. And Pluzhnikov suddenly realized that Przhnyuk was awaiting a shot with horror and that his back - a huge and unprotected back - had become stooped and submissive precisely because it had been waiting for a shot for a long time and as usual every moment.

Have you seen Salnikov? Did you meet Salnikov in captivity? Answer, there is no one here.

He's in the infirmary.

In the camp infirmary.

Sick, or what?

Przhnyuk said nothing.

What about him? Why is he in the infirmary?

Comrade Commander, Comrade Commander ... ”Prizhnyuk suddenly whispered, looking around furtively. - Do not ruin, comrade commander, I beg you, do not ruin me. For us, who work well, who try, we will get relief. And the locals, those who will be allowed to go home, promised that they would certainly go home ...

Okay, don't lament, ”Pluzhnikov interrupted angrily. - Serve them, earn freedom, run home - all the same, you are not a man. But you will do one thing, Przhnyuk. You will, or I'll shoot you to hell now.

Will you do it, I ask? Or - or, I'm not kidding.

Well, what can I, what? Bonded me.

Hand over the pistol to Salnikov. Give it and say, let him ask for work in the fortress. Understood?

Przhnyuk was silent.

If you don’t, look. I'll find it underground, Prizhnyuk. Here you go.

Swinging, Pluzhnikov threw the pistol directly onto Przhnyuk's shovel. And as soon as this pistol rang on a shovel, Przhnyuk suddenly darted to the side and ran, shouting loudly:

Here! This way, man here! Mr. German, come here! The lieutenant is here, the Soviet lieutenant!

It was so unexpected that for a moment Pluzhnikov was at a loss. And when he came to his senses, Przhnyuk had already run out of the sector of his shelling, the camp guards were running to the hole, thundering with shod boots, and the first signal shot had already hit the air.

It was impossible to retreat back to where the unarmed and frightened Volkov was hiding, and Pluzhnikov rushed to the other side. He did not try to shoot back, because there were many Germans, he wanted to break away from the pursuit, hide in a deaf casemate and lie down there until dark. And at night to find Volkov and return to their own.

He easily managed to leave: the Germans were not very eager to go to the dark cellars, and the running around the ruins did not suit them either. They shot in pursuit, shouted, fired a rocket, but Pluzhnikov saw this rocket from a safe basement.

Now was the time to think. But even here, in the sensitive darkness of the dungeon, Pluzhnikov could not think of either Fedorchuk, who he had shot, or the confused Volkov, or the submissive, already bent Prizhnyuk. He could not think about them, not because he did not want to, but because he was persistently thinking about something completely different and much more important: about the Germans.

He again did not recognize them today. I did not recognize them as strong, self-confident, to the point of insolence, desperate young guys, stubborn in attacks, tenacious in pursuit, stubborn in hand-to-hand combat. No, those Germans with whom he had fought before would not have released him alive after the cry of Przhnyuk. Those Germans would not have stood in the open on the shore, waiting for a Red Army soldier who raised his hands to approach them. And they wouldn't laugh after the first shot. And they certainly would not have allowed them and Volkov to escape with impunity after the execution of the defector.

Those Germans, these Germans ... Without knowing anything, he himself already assumed the difference between the Germans during the storming of the fortress and the Germans of today. In all likelihood, those active, "assault" Germans were withdrawn from the fortress, and their place was taken by Germans of a different warehouse, of a different fighting style. They are not inclined to take the initiative, do not like risk and are frankly afraid of dark, shooting dungeons.

Having made this conclusion, Pluzhnikov not only cheered up, but also in a certain way became insolent. The newly created concept required an experimental test, and Pluzhnikov deliberately did something that he would never have dared to do before: he went to the exit in growth, not hiding and deliberately rattling his boots.

So he came out of the basement: only the machine gun was kept at hand at a combat platoon. There were no Germans at the entrance, which once again confirmed his guess and greatly simplified their position. Now it was necessary to think, consult with the foreman and choose a new tactic of resistance. New tactics of their personal war with Nazi Germany.

Thinking about this, Pluzhnikov walked far around the prisoners - behind the ruins a dull shuffling was still heard - and approached the place where he had left Volkov on the other side. These places were familiar to him, he learned to quickly and accurately navigate in the ruins and immediately went out to an inclined brick block, under which he hid Volkov. The block was in the same place, but Volkov himself was neither under it, nor near it.

Not believing his eyes, Pluzhnikov felt this block, crawled out the neighboring ruins, looked into each casemate, even risked calling out several times to the missing young, barely fired soldier with strange, almost unblinking eyes, but he could not find him. Volkov disappeared inexplicably and mysteriously, leaving behind not a scrap of clothing, not a drop of blood, not a cry, not a sigh.

So you took off Fedorchuk, ”Stepan Matveyevich sighed. - I feel sorry for the boy. The boy will be gone, comrade lieutenant, it hurts since childhood he was scared.

Quiet Vasya Volkov was remembered several more times, but Fedorchuk was no longer talked about. As if he was not there, as if he did not eat at this table and did not sleep in the next corner. Only Mirra asked when they were alone:

Shot?

She stuttered, with difficulty uttered the word. It was a stranger, not from the everyday life that developed in her family. There they talked about children and bread, about work and fatigue, about wood and potatoes. And one more thing - about diseases, which were always enough.

Shot?

Pluzhnikov nodded. He understood that she was asking, pitying him and not Fedorchuk. Pitying and horrified at the severity of the perfect, although he himself did not feel any heaviness: only fatigue.

My God! - sighed Mirra. - My God, your children are going crazy!

She said it in an adult way, bitterly and calmly. And just like an adult, she calmly pulled his head to her and kissed him three times: on the forehead and in both eyes.

I will take your grief, I will take your diseases, I will take your misfortunes.

This is what her mother used to say when one of the children fell ill. And there were many children, a lot of eternally hungry children, and my mother did not know either her grief or her illnesses: she had enough of other people's ailments and someone else's grief. But she taught all her girls first to think not about their troubles. And Mirrochka too, although she always sighed at the same time:

And you have a century to root for strangers: your own will not, daughter.

From childhood, Mirra got used to the idea that she was destined to go to nanny to happier sisters. She got used to it and no longer grieved, because her special position - the position of a crippled one that no one would covet, - also had its advantages and, above all, freedom.

And Aunt Christia kept wandering around the basement and counting the crackers gnawed by rats. And whispered at the same time:

There are no two. There are no two. There are no two. She had difficulty walking lately. It was cool in the dungeons, Aunt Christie's legs were swollen, and she herself, without the sun, movement and fresh air, became loose, slept badly and was short of breath. She felt that her health had suddenly broken down, she realized that every day she would get worse and worse, and secretly decided to leave. And she cried at night, feeling sorry not for herself, but for the girl who was soon to be left alone. Without a mother's hand and a woman's advice.

She herself was lonely. Three of her children died in infancy, her husband left to work, and so he disappeared, the house was taken away for debts, and Aunt Christya, fleeing from hunger, moved to Brest. She served as a servant, interrupted somehow, until the Red Army arrived. This Red Army - cheerful, generous and kind - for the first time in her life gave Aunt Christ a constant job, prosperity, comrades and a room for compaction.

That is God's army, - Aunt Christia explained importantly to the unusually quiet Brest market, - Pray, Panova.

She herself had not prayed for a long time, not because she did not believe, but because she was offended. She took offense at the great injustice that deprived her of her children and her husband, and at once stopped all communication with heaven. And even now, when she was very ill, she struggled to restrain herself, although she really wanted to pray for the Red Army, and for the young lieutenant, and for the girl who had been so cruelly offended by her own Jewish god. She was overwhelmed with these thoughts, inner struggle and the expectation of a near end. And she did everything according to her long-term habit of work and order, no longer listening to the conversations in the casemate.

Do you think another German has come?

The foreman's leg was unbearably aching from the constant cold. It swelled up and burned incessantly, but Stepan Matveyevich did not tell anyone about this. He stubbornly believed in his own health, and since his bone was intact, the hole had to heal by itself.

Why didn't they run after me? - mused Pluzhnikov. - We always ran, but here we were released, Why?

Or they could not change the Germans, - said the foreman, after thinking. - They could have given them such an order so that they would not go into the cellars.

They could, ”Pluzhnikov sighed. - Only I should know. Know everything about them.

Having rested, he again slipped upstairs to look for the mysteriously missing Volkov. He crawled again, choking on the dust, the stench of the corpse, calling, listening attentively. There was no answer.

The meeting happened unexpectedly. Two Germans, talking peacefully, came out to him from behind the surviving wall. The carbines were hanging over their shoulders, but even if they were holding them in their hands, Pluzhnikov would have had time to shoot first. He had already developed a lightning-fast reaction in himself, and only she had saved him so far.

And the second German was saved by an accident, which earlier would have cost Pluzhnikov's life. His submachine gun fired a short burst, the first German collapsed on bricks, and the cartridge was skewed when fed. While Pluzhnikov frantically pulled the bolt, the second German could have finished him off long ago or run away, but instead he fell to his knees. And obediently waited for Pluzhnikov to knock out the stuck cartridge.

The sun had set long ago, but it was still light: these Germans were late for something today and did not have time to leave the dead yard, plowed by shells, in time. We didn’t have time, and now one of them had ceased to flinch, and the other was kneeling in front of Pluzhnikov, his head bowed. And he was silent.

And Pluzhnikov was silent too. He already realized that he would not be able to shoot the enemy who was kneeling, but something prevented him from suddenly turning and disappearing into the ruins. He was hampered by the same question that occupied him no less than the missing soldier: why did the Germans become like this one, who obediently fell to his knees. He did not consider his war to be over, and therefore he needed to know everything about the enemy. And the answer is not speculation, not speculation, but an accurate, real answer! - This answer stood now in front of him, expecting death.

Comm, ”he said, indicating with an automatic machine where to go.

The German was saying something on the way, often looking around, but Pluzhnikov had no time to remember German words. He drove the prisoner to the hole by the shortest route, expecting shooting, pursuit, shouts. And the German, bending over, trotted ahead, hunted with his head drawn into the narrow civilian shoulders.

So they ran across the courtyard, made their way into the dungeons, and the German was the first to enter the dimly lit casemate. And here he suddenly fell silent, seeing a bearded foreman and two women at a long plank table. And they, too, were silent, looking in surprise at the stooped, terrified and far from young enemy.

“I got the 'Language',” said Pluzhnikov and looked at Mirra with boyish triumph. - Now we will find out all the riddles, Stepan Matveyevich.

I don’t understand anything, ”Pluzhnikov said in confusion. - Rumbles.

He is a worker, - realized the foreman, - You see, shows his hands?

Lyangzam, - said Pluzhnikov. - Bitte, langzam. He tensely recalled German phrases, but only a few words were recalled. The German nodded hastily, uttered several phrases slowly and diligently, but suddenly, with a sob, he again broke into a feverish tongue twister.

A frightened man, ”Aunt Christya sighed. - The trembling is trembling.

He says that he is not a soldier, - said Mirra suddenly. - He's a security guard.

Do you understand in their language? - Stepan Matveyevich was surprised.

A little bit.

That is, how so - not a soldier? Pluzhnikov frowned. - And what is he doing in our fortress?

Niht soldat! cried the German. - Niht Zoldat, Niht Wehrmacht!

Business, - the foreman drawled, puzzled. - Maybe he is guarding our prisoners?

Mirra translated the question. The German listened, nodding often, and burst into a long tirade as soon as she stopped talking.

The prisoners are guarded by others, ”the girl interpreted not very confidently. - They are ordered to guard the entrances and exits of the fortress. They are a sentry team. He is a real German, and the fortress was stormed by Austrians from the forty-fifth division, fellow countrymen of the Fuhrer himself. And he is a worker, mobilized in April ...

I told you I was a worker! - the foreman noted with pleasure.

How could he be a worker, a proletarian, how could he be against us ... - Pluzhnikov fell silent, waved his hand. - Okay, don't ask about that. Ask if there are any combat units in the fortress or if they have already been withdrawn.

And what about the German military units?

Well, I don’t know ... Ask if there are soldiers? Slowly, choosing her words, Mirra began to translate. The German listened with his head hanging from the effort. He clarified several times, asked something again, and then again began to frequent, mumbled, then, poking his chest, then, portraying a submachine gunner: "Tu-tu-tu! .."

The real soldiers remained in the fortress: sappers, machine gunners, flamethrowers. They are called when Russians are found: that is the order. But he is not a soldier, he is a guard duty, he never shot at people.

The German mumbled something again, waved his hands. Then he suddenly solemnly shook his finger at Khristina Yanovna, and slowly, importantly, he took out a black bag glued from automobile rubber from his pocket. He pulled out four photographs from the bag and laid them on the table.

Children, - sighed Aunt Christia. - He seems to be his kids.

Kinder! - shouted the German. - Mine Kinder! Dry! And proudly he poked his finger into the unsightly narrow chest: his hands no longer trembled.

Mirra and Aunt Christia looked at the photographs, asked the prisoner about something important, femininely stupidly detailed and kind. About children, buns, health, school grades, colds, breakfasts, jackets. The men sat aside and thought what would happen later, when they had to end this good-neighborly conversation. And the foreman said without looking:

You will have to, Comrade Lieutenant: my leg is difficult. And letting go is dangerous: he knows the way to us.

Pluzhnikov nodded. His heart suddenly ached, ached heavily and hopelessly, and for the first time he acutely regretted that he had not shot this German as soon as he reloaded the machine gun. This thought made him physically sick: even now he was not suitable for executioners.

I'm sorry, ”the foreman said apologetically. - Leg, you know ...

I understand, I understand! - Pluzhnikov interrupted too hastily. - My cartridge is warped ... He cut off abruptly, got up, took the machine gun:

Even in the faint light of the wen one could see how the German had turned gray. He turned gray, slouched even more and began to fussily collect photographs. And the hands did not obey, they trembled, the fingers did not bend, and the photographs all the time slipped onto the table.

Forverts! - shouted Pluzhnikov, cocking the machine gun. He felt that a moment more - and the determination would leave him. He could no longer look at those fussy, trembling hands.

Forverts!

The German, staggering, stood at the table and slowly walked towards the manhole.

I forgot my cards! - Aunt Christa was alarmed, - Wait.

Waddling on her swollen legs, she caught up with the German and shoved the photographs herself into the pocket of his uniform. The German stood, swaying, staring blankly in front of him.

Comm! - Pluzhnikov pushed the prisoner with the barrel of a machine gun.

They both knew what was ahead. The German plodded along, dragging his feet heavily, with shaking hands, stripping and stripping the hem of his crumpled uniform. His back suddenly began to sweat, a dark stain crept down his uniform, and the foul smell of death sweat trailed behind him like a train.

And Pluzhnikov had to kill him. Take it upstairs and jump out of the machine gun point-blank into that suddenly sweaty stooped back. The back that covered three children. Of course, this German did not want to fight, of course, it was not by his own hunt that he wandered into these terrible ruins, smelling of smoke, soot and human rot. Of course not. Pluzhnikov understood all this and, understanding, ruthlessly drove forward:

Shnel! Shnel!

Without turning, he knew that Mirra was following, falling on his sore leg. Goes so that it would not be difficult for him alone when he does what he is obliged to do. He will do it upstairs, come back here and here, in the dark, they will meet. It's good that it's in the dark: he won't see her eyes. She'll just say something to him. Something that would not be so dreary in my soul.

Well, you climb!

The German could not get through the hole in any way. Weakened hands fell off the bricks, he rolled back onto Pluzhnikov, puffing and sobbing. He smelled bad: even Pluzhnikov, who had got used to the stench, could hardly bear this smell - the smell of death in a still living being.

He still pushed him upstairs. The German took a step, his legs buckled, and he fell to his knees. Pluzhnikov poked him with the muzzle of a machine gun, the German gently rolled onto his side and, hunched over, froze.

Mirra stood in the dungeon, looked at the hole that was no longer visible in the dark, and waited in horror for the shot. And still there were no shots and there were no shots.

There was a rustle in the hole, and Pluzhnikov jumped down from above. And immediately felt that she was standing next to.

You know, it turns out I can't shoot a man.

Cool hands groped his head, pulled him towards them. With his cheek he felt her cheek: she was wet with tears.

Why do we need it? For what, well for what? What did we do wrong? We haven't managed to do anything yet, nothing!

She cried, pressing her face against him. Pluzhnikov clumsily stroked her slender shoulders.

Well, what are you, little sister? What for?

I was afraid. I was afraid that you would shoot this old man. - She suddenly hugged him tightly, hastily kissed him several times. - Thank you, thank you, thank you. Don't tell them: let it be our secret. Well, it's like you did it for me, okay?

He wanted to say that he really did it for her, but didn’t say it, because he didn’t shoot this German all the same for himself. For her conscience, which wanted to stay clean no matter what.

They won't ask.

They really didn’t ask about anything, and everything went as it had done before that evening. Only at the table it was now more spacious, and they slept as before in their corners: Aunt Christa alone with the girl, the foreman on the boards, and Pluzhnikov on the bench.

And that night, Aunt Christya did not sleep. I listened to the foreman moaning in his sleep, how the young lieutenant gritted his teeth terribly, how the rats squeaked and stomped in the dark, how Mirra sighed soundlessly. She listened, but the tears flowed and flowed, and Aunt Christya had not wiped them for a long time, because her left hand was very painful and did not obey, and a girl was sleeping on her right. Tears flowed and dripped from my cheeks, and the old quilted jacket was already wet.

My legs, back, arms ached, but my heart ached most of all, and Aunt Christya thought now that she would soon die, die up there, and certainly in the sun. Always in the sun, because she really wanted to get warm. And in order to see this sun, she had to leave while there was still strength, while she alone, without someone else's help, could get up. And she decided that tomorrow she would certainly try, whether she still had the strength, and whether it was time for her, before it was too late, to leave.

With this thought, she forgot herself, already half asleep kissing the black girl's head that she had spent so many nights on her hand. And in the morning I got up and even before breakfast I could hardly crawl through the hole into the underground corridor.

A torch was burning here. Lieutenant Pluzhnikov washed himself - fortunately, there was now enough water - and Mirra watered him. She poured little by little and not at all where he asked: Pluzhnikov was angry, and the girl laughed.

Where are you, Aunt Christya?

And to the hole, to the hole, ”she hastily explained. - I want to breathe.

Should I see you out? Mirrochka asked.

What are you, don't. Mine is my lieutenant.

She's indulging! - said Pluzhnikov angrily. And they laughed again, and Aunt Christya, leaning on the wall, walked slowly towards the hole, stepping carefully with her swollen feet. However, she walked on her own, she still had strength, and this made Aunt Christ very happy.

“Maybe I won't leave today. Maybe I'll wait another day, maybe I'll live a little longer. "

Aunt Christ was already near the hole, but the noise above was the first to hear not she, but Pluzhnikov. He heard this incomprehensible noise, became alert and, still not understanding anything, pushed the girl into the hole:

Mirra dived into the dungeon without asking or hesitating: she was already used to obeying. And Pluzhnikov, tensely catching this extraneous noise, only managed to shout:

Aunt Christya, back!

There was a resounding sound in the hole, and a tight wave of hot air hit Pluzhnikov in the chest. He gasped, fell, painfully gasping for air with his gaping mouth, managed to find the hole and dive there. The flame flared up unbearably brightly, and a fiery tornado burst into the dungeon, for a moment, illuminating the brick vaults, fleeing rats, the floors sprinkled with dust and sand, and the frozen figure of Aunt Christi. And in the next instant there was a terrible inhuman cry, and Aunt Christa, enveloped in flames, rushed to run down the corridor. It already smelled of burnt human flesh, and Aunt Christya was still running, still shouting, still calling for help. She ran, having already burned out in a thousand-degree jet of a flamethrower. And suddenly it collapsed, as if melted, and it became quiet, only melted crumbs of brick dripped from above. Rarely like blood.

Even the casemate smelled of burning. Stepan Matveyevich blocked the hole with a brick, hammered it in with old quilted jackets, but it still smelled burnt. Burnt human meat.

After shouting, Mirra fell silent in the corner. From time to time she would begin to shake; then she got up and walked around the casemate, trying not to approach the men. Now she looked at them distantly, as if they were on the other side of an invisible barrier. Probably, this barrier existed before, but then between its sides, between her and the men, there was a transmission link: Aunt Christ. Aunt Christya warmed her at night, Aunt Christya fed her at the table, Aunt Christya gruffly taught her not to be afraid of anything, not even rats, and at night she drove them away from her, and Mirra slept peacefully. Aunt Christya helped her get dressed, put on her prosthesis in the morning, wash and take care of herself. Aunt Christya rudely chased men away when it was necessary, and behind her broad and kind back Mirra lived without hesitation.

Now this back was gone. Now Mirra was alone, and for the first time felt the invisible barrier that separated her from the men. Now she was helpless, and the horror of the consciousness of this physical helplessness fell heavily on her slender shoulders.

So they spotted us, ”Stepan Matveyevich sighed. - No matter how they were guarded, no matter how they were buried.

It's my fault! Pluzhnikov jumped up and darted about the casemate. - I, I alone! Yesterday I…

He fell silent, bumping into Mirra. She did not look at him, she was all immersed in herself, in her thoughts and nothing existed for her now, except for these thoughts. But for Pluzhnikov there was also she, and her yesterday's gratitude, and that cry "Kolya! ..", which once stopped him in the very place where the ashes of Aunt Christi were now lying. For him, their common secret already existed, her whisper, the breath of which he felt on his cheek. And so he did not admit that he had released the German yesterday, who had brought the flamethrowers in the morning. This confession could no longer correct anything.

What is your fault, Lieutenant?

Until now, Stepan Matveyevich rarely turned to Pluzhnikov with the simplicity that was dictated by the difference in age and their position. He always emphatically recognized him as a commander and spoke as required by the regulations. But today there was no more charter, and there were two young people and a tired adult with a rotting leg alive.

What are you to blame?

I came and the misfortunes began. And Aunt Christ, and Volkov, and even this ... this bastard. All because of me. You lived calmly before me.

Calm and rats live. Look how many of them divorced in our tranquility. You're looking for the wrong end of the day, Lieutenant. And I, for example, am grateful to you. If it weren't for you, you wouldn't have killed a single German. And so it seems he killed. Killed, huh? There, at the Kholmsky Gate?

At the Kholmsky Gate, the foreman did not kill anyone: the only burst he managed to fire was too long, and all the bullets went into the sky. But he really wanted to believe it, and Pluzhnikov confirmed:

Two, in my opinion.

For two I will not say, but one definitely fell. Exactly. Thank you for him, Lieutenant. So I can kill them too. So it’s not in vain that I’m here ...

On this day, they did not leave their casemate. Not that they were afraid of the Germans - the Germans would hardly have dared to climb into the dungeons - they simply could not see what the flamethrower had left on that day.

Let's go tomorrow, said the foreman. - Tomorrow I still have enough strength. Ah, Yanovna, Yanovna, you should be late for that hole ... So they enter the fortress through the Terespol gate?

Through Terespolskie. And what?

So. For information.

The foreman paused, glancing sideways at Mirra. Then he came up, took it by the hand, pulled it to the bench:

Sit down.

Mirra sat down obediently. She thought all day about Aunt Christ and about her helplessness and was tired of these thoughts.

You will sleep next to me.

Mirra drew herself up sharply.

Why else?

Don't be scared, daughter. - Stepan Matveyevich grinned sadly. - Old me. Old and sick, and still I do not sleep at night. So I’ll drive the rats away from you, as Yanovna did.

Mirra lowered her head, turned, poked her forehead. The foreman embraced her, said, in a low voice:

Yes, and we need to talk to you when the lieutenant is asleep. Soon you will be alone with him. Don't argue, I know what I'm saying.

That night, other tears flowed onto the old quilted jacket that served as the headboard. The foreman spoke and spoke, Mirra cried for a long time, and then, exhausted, fell asleep. And Stepan Matveyevich dozed off by morning, embracing the trusting girl's shoulders.

He forgot for a while: he dozed off, deceived fatigue and, with a clear head, once again calmly and thoroughly thought about the whole path that he had to go through today. Everything had already been decided, decided deliberately, without hesitation or hesitation, and the foreman was simply clarifying the details. And then, carefully so as not to wake up Mirra, he got up and, taking out the grenades, began to knit bundles.

What are you going to blow up? - asked Pluzhnikov, finding him doing this.

I’ll find it. - Stepan Matveyevich looked sideways at the sleeping girl, lowered his voice: - Don't offend her, Nikolai.

Pluzhnikov was shivering. He wrapped himself in his greatcoat and yawned.

I do not understand.

Do not offend, - the foreman sternly repeated. - She's still small. And the patient, you also need to understand this. And don't leave one alone: ​​if you decide to leave, remember her first. Get out of the fortress together: one girl will disappear.

And you ... What are you?

I got the infection, Nikolay. As long as I have strength, as long as my legs are holding, I’ll climb up. Dying, so with music.

Stepan Matveyevich ...

All, Comrade Lieutenant, the foreman fought back. And your orders are now invalid: now my orders are more important. And here is my last order for you: save the girl and survive himself. Survive. To spite them - survive. For all of us.

He got up, tucked the ligaments into his bosom and, heavily falling on his swollen leg, like a boot flooded, went to the manhole. Pluzhnikov said something, persuaded, but the foreman did not listen to him: the main thing was said. Disassembled the bricks in the hole.

So, you say, through the Terespolskie they enter the fortress? Well, goodbye, son. Live!

And got out. There was a burning stench from the open manhole.

Good morning.

Mirra sat on the bed, wrapped in a pea jacket. Pluzhnikov stood silently at the manhole.

What does it smell like ...

She saw the black hole of the open manhole and fell silent. Pluzhnikov suddenly grabbed a machine gun:

I'm upstairs. Don't go near the hole!

It was a completely different cry: confused, helpless. Pluzhnikov stopped:

The foreman left. He took the grenades and left. I will catch up.

We will catch up. - She hastily fumbled in the corner. - Only together.

But where are you going ... - Pluzhnikov hesitated.

I know I'm lame, ”Mirra said quietly. - But this is from birth, what to do. And I'm afraid here alone. I'm very afraid. I can't be here alone, I'd rather get out on my own.

He lit a torch, and they crawled out of the casemate, There was nothing to breathe in the sticky, thick stench. The rats fiddled with the pile of charred bones, and that was all that remained of Aunt Christi.

Don't look, ”said Pluzhnikov. - Let's go back, bury.

The bricks in the hole were melted by yesterday's flamethrower salvo. Pluzhnikov got out first, looked around, helped Mirra out. She climbed with difficulty, clumsily, breaking down on slippery, melted bricks. He dragged her to the very exit and held her just in case:

Wait.

I looked around again: the sun had not yet appeared, and the likelihood of meeting the Germans was low, but Pluzhnikov did not want to risk it.

Get out.

She hesitated. Pluzhnikov looked around to hurry her up, suddenly saw a thin, very pale face and two huge eyes that looked at him with fear and tenseness. And he was silent: he saw her for the first time in the light of day.

That's what you are, it turns out.

Mirra lowered her eyes, climbed out and sat on the bricks, carefully wrapping her dress around her knees. She glanced at him, because for the first time, too, she saw him not in the foul flame of the smokers, but glanced furtively, sideways, every time, like shutters, raising her long eyelashes.

Probably, on peaceful days among other girls, he simply would not have noticed her. She was generally invisible - only large sad eyes and eyelashes were noticeable - but now there was no one more beautiful than her.

So that's what you are, it turns out.

Well, that's it, ”she said angrily. - Don't look at me, please. Don’t look, or else I’ll crawl into the hole again.

OK. He smiled. - I will not, only you obey.

Pluzhnikov made his way to the fragment of the wall, looked out: neither the foreman nor the Germans were in the empty, torn-up yard.

Go here.

Mirra, stumbling on the bricks, came up, He put his arm around her shoulders, bent his head.

Hide. Do you see the gate with the tower? This is Terespolskie.

He asked me something about them ... Mirra said nothing. Looking around, she recognized and did not recognize the familiar fortress. The building of the commandant's office lay in ruins, the broken box of the church darkened gloomily, and only trunks remained from the chestnuts that grew around. And there was no one, not a single living soul in the whole wide world.

How scary, ”she sighed. - There, under the ground, it still seems that there is someone else above. Someone is alive.

Surely there is, - he said, - We are not the only lucky ones. There is somewhere, otherwise there would be no shooting, but it happens. There is somewhere, and I will find where.

Find it, ”she asked quietly. - Please find it.

Germans, ”he said. - Calmly. Just keep your head down.

A patrol emerged from the Terespolskiye Gates: three Germans emerged from the dark hole in the gates, stood for a while, and walked slowly along the barracks to the Kholmskiy Gates. From somewhere in the distance, an abrupt song was heard: as if they had not sung it, but shouted out a good fifty sips. The song grew louder, Pluzhnikov already heard the stomp and realized that the German detachment with the song was now entering under the arch of the Terespol Gate.

And where is Stepan Matveyevich? Mirra asked anxiously.

Pluzhnikov did not answer. The head of a German column appeared at the gate: they walked in three, loudly shouting a song. And at that moment a dark figure fell from above, from the broken tower. Flashed in the air, falling directly on the marching Germans, and a powerful explosion of two bundles of grenades tore the morning silence.

Here is Stepan Matveyevich! - shouted Pluzhnikov. - Here it is, Mirra! Here it is!..

Throughout his life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has not met so many pleasant surprises as he did in the last three weeks. He had been waiting for an order to confer a military rank on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, for a long time, but after the order, pleasant surprises poured in such abundance that Kolya woke up at night from his own laughter.
After the morning formation, at which the order was read out, they were immediately taken to the clothing warehouse. No, not in the general, cadet, but in the cherished one, where chrome boots of unthinkable beauty were issued, crisp shoulder straps, stiff holsters, commander's bags with smooth lacquer tablets, overcoats with buttons and tunics from a strict diagonal. And then everyone, the entire issue, rushed to the school tailors to adjust the uniform both in height and in the waist, in order to fit into it, like into their own skin. And there they pushed, fiddled, and laughed so hard that a state-owned enamel lampshade began to swing under the ceiling.
In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on graduation, handed over the "Identity card of the commander of the Red Army" and a weighty TT. The beardless lieutenants were deafeningly shouting the number of the pistol and with all their might squeezed the dry general's palm. And at the banquet they enthusiastically shook the commanders of the training platoons and tried to settle scores with the foreman. However, everything turned out well, and this evening - the most beautiful of all evenings - began and ended solemnly and beautifully.
For some reason, it was on the night after the banquet that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov discovered that he was crunching. It crunches pleasantly, loudly and courageously. The fresh leather of the belt crunches, the uncrumpled uniforms, the shining boots. The whole crunch is like a brand new ruble, which for this feature the boys of those years simply called "crunch".
Actually, it all started a little earlier. At the ball, which followed after the banquet, yesterday's cadets came with the girls. But Kolya did not have a girlfriend, and he, stammering, invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips anxiously, said thoughtfully: “I don’t know, I don’t know ...”, but she came. They danced, and Kolya, out of burning shyness, kept talking and talking, and since Zoya worked in the library, he talked about Russian literature. At first, Zoya assented, and at the end she resentfully protruded her ineptly painted lips:
- You crunch too painfully, Comrade Lieutenant. In school language, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was asked. Then Kolya understood it that way, and when he came to the barracks, he found that he was crunching in the most natural and pleasant way.
“I’m crunching,” he told his friend and bedmate, not without pride.
They were sitting on a windowsill in the second floor corridor. It was early June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs that no one was allowed to break.
- Crunch your health, - said the friend. - Only, you know, not in front of Zoya: she is a fool, Kolka. She is a terrible fool and is married to a petty officer from an ammunition platoon.
But Kolka listened with half an ear, because he studied the crunch. And he liked this crunch very much.
The next day, the guys began to leave: everyone was entitled to a vacation. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one by one disappeared behind the lattice gates of the school.
For some reason, Kolya was not given travel documents (however, there was nothing to go to: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go to find out when the orderly shouted from afar:
- Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissioner! ..
The commissar, very much like the suddenly aged actor Chirkov, listened to the report, shook hands, indicated where to sit, and silently offered cigarettes.
“I don’t smoke,” said Kolya and began to blush: he was generally thrown into a fever with an extraordinary ease.
“Well done,” said the commissioner. - And I, you know, still can’t give up, I don’t have enough willpower.
And he lit a cigarette. Kolya was about to advise how to temper the will, but the commissar spoke again.
- We know you, Lieutenant, as an extremely conscientious and executive person. We also know that you have a mother and a sister in Moscow, that you have not seen them for two years and have missed them. And you are entitled to a vacation. - He paused, climbed out from behind the table, walked, staring intently at his feet. “We know all this, and nevertheless we decided to appeal to you with a request ... This is not an order, this is a request, mind you, Pluzhnikov. We no longer have the right to order you ...
- I am listening, comrade regimental commissar. - Kolya suddenly decided that he would be offered to go to work in intelligence, and all tensed, ready to scream deafeningly: "Yes! .."
“Our school is expanding,” said the commissioner. - The situation is difficult, in Europe there is a war, and we need to have as many combined-arms commanders as possible. In this regard, we are opening two more training companies. But their staffs are not yet staffed, and the property is already arriving. So we ask you, Comrade Pluzhnikov, to help sort out this property. Accept it, post it ...
And Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position "where will they send." His whole course had long gone, he had long had romances, sunbathed, swam, danced, and Kolya diligently counted bed sets, running meters of footcloths and a pair of cowhide boots. And he wrote all sorts of reports.
Two weeks passed in this way. For two weeks Kolya patiently, from getting up to lights out and seven days a week, received, counted and arrived property, never leaving the gate, as if he was still a cadet and was waiting for a leave from an angry foreman.
In June, there were few people left at the school: almost everyone had already left for the camps. Usually Kolya did not meet with anyone, up to his throat busy with endless calculations, statements and acts, but somehow with joyful surprise he discovered that he was ... welcomed. They greet in accordance with all the rules of army regulations, throwing their palm to their temples with a cadet chic and throwing their chin dashingly. Kolya tried his best to answer with weary carelessness, but his heart sank sweetly in a fit of youthful vanity.
It was then that he began to walk in the evenings. With his hands clasped behind his back, he walked straight to the groups of cadets who were smoking before going to bed at the entrance to the barracks. Wearily, he looked strictly in front of him, and his ears grew and grew, catching a cautious whisper:
- Commander ...
And, already knowing that his palms were about to fly resiliently to his temples, he diligently frowned his eyebrows, trying to give his face, round, fresh, like a French bun, an expression of incredible concern ...
- Hello, Comrade Lieutenant.
It was on the third evening: nose to nose - Zoya. In the warm twilight, white teeth sparkled with a chill, and the numerous frills moved by themselves, because there was no wind. And this lively thrill was especially frightening.
- Something you are nowhere to be seen, Comrade Lieutenant. And you don't come to the library anymore ...
- Work.
- Are you left at the school?
“I have a special task,” Kolya said vaguely.
For some reason they were already walking side by side and in the wrong direction. Zoya talked and talked, laughing incessantly; he did not grasp the meaning, wondering that he was so submissively going in the wrong direction. Then he thought with concern if his outfit had lost its romantic crunch, shrugged his shoulder, and the sword belt immediately responded with a tight noble creak ...
-… terribly funny! We laughed so much, laughed so hard ... But you are not listening, Comrade Lieutenant.
- No, I'm listening. You were laughing.
She paused: her teeth gleamed again in the darkness. And he no longer saw anything but this smile.
“You liked me, didn't you?” Well, tell me, Kolya, did you like it? ..
“No,” he whispered. - I just do not know. You are married.
- Married? .. - She laughed loudly: - Married, right? You were told? Well, so what if married? I accidentally married him, it was a mistake ...
Somehow he took her by the shoulders. Or maybe he didn’t take it, but she herself led them so deftly that his hands were on her shoulders.
“By the way, he's gone,” she said matter-of-factly. - If you walk along this alley to the fence, and then along the fence to our house, no one will notice. Do you want some tea, Kolya, right? ..
He already wanted tea, but then a dark spot moved on them from the alley darkness, swam and said:
- Sorry.
- Comrade regimental commissar! - Kolya shouted desperately, rushing after the figure stepping aside. - Comrade regimental commissar, I ...
- Comrade Pluzhnikov? Why did you leave the girl? Ay, ay.
- Yes, yes, of course, - Kolya rushed back, said hastily: - Zoya, I'm sorry. Affairs. Official business.
That Kolya muttered to the commissar, getting out of the lilac avenue into the calm expanse of the school parade ground, he had forgotten in an hour. Something about a tailor cloth of a non-standard width, or, it seems, a standard width, but not quite a cloth ... The Commissioner listened, listened, and then asked:
- Was that a friend of yours?
- No, no, what are you! - Kolya was frightened. - What are you, comrade regimental commissar, this is Zoya, from the library. I didn't hand over the book to her, so ...
And he fell silent, feeling that he was blushing: he respected the good-natured elderly commissar very much and was ashamed to lie. However, the commissar started talking about something else, and Kolya somehow came to his senses.
“It’s good that you don’t run the documentation: little things play a huge disciplining role in our military life. For example, a civilian can sometimes afford something, but we, the career commanders of the Red Army, cannot. We cannot, for example, walk with a married woman, because we are in full view. we must always, every minute, be a model of discipline for our subordinates. And it is very good that you understand this ... Tomorrow, comrade Pluzhnikov, at eleven-thirty, I ask you to come to me. Let's talk about your future service, maybe go to the general.
- There is…
- Well, then see you tomorrow. - The commissar gave his hand, held it, said quietly: - And the book will have to be returned to the library, Kolya! Have to!..
Of course, it turned out very badly that I had to deceive the comrade of the regimental commissar, but for some reason Kolya was not too upset. In the future, a possible meeting with the head of the school was expected, and yesterday's cadet was waiting for this meeting with impatience, fear and trepidation, like a girl - meeting her first love. He got up long before getting up, polished his crisp boots until they glowed independently, hemmed a fresh collar and polished all the buttons. In the commanding staff canteen - Kolya was monstrously proud that he was feeding in this canteen and personally paying for the food - he could not eat anything, but only drank three servings of dried fruit compote. And at exactly eleven he arrived at the commissioner.
- Ah, Pluzhnikov, great! - In front of the door of the commissar's office sat Lieutenant Gorobtsov - the former commander of Kolya's training platoon - also polished, ironed and tightened. - How's it going? Rounding off with footcloths?
Pluzhnikov was a thorough man and therefore told everything about his affairs, secretly wondering why Lieutenant Gorobtsov was not interested in what he, Kolya, was doing here. And ended with a hint:
- Yesterday the comrade regimental commissar asked questions. And he ordered ...
“Listen, Pluzhnikov,” Gorobtsov suddenly interrupted, lowering his voice. - If they ask you to go to Velichko, don't go. Ask me, okay? Like, you've been serving together for a long time, you've worked together ...
Lieutenant Velichko was also the commander of a training platoon, but the second, and he always argued with Lieutenant Gorobtsov on all occasions. Kolya understood nothing of what Gorobtsov had told him, but he nodded politely. And when he opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, the door of the commissar’s office opened and the radiant and also very ceremonial lieutenant Velichko came out.
- They gave the company, - he said to Gorobtsov, - I wish the same!
Gorobtsov jumped up, tugged at his tunic as usual, pushing all the folds back in one movement, and entered the study.
“Hello, Pluzhnikov,” Velichko said and sat down next to him. - Well, how are things in general? Have you passed everything and accepted everything?
- In general, yes. - Kolya again spoke in detail about his affairs. Only did not have time to hint at the commissar, because the impatient Velichko interrupted earlier:
- Kolya, they will offer - ask me. I said a few words there, but you, in general, ask.
- Where to ask?
Then the regimental commissar and lieutenant Gorobtsov came out into the corridor, and Velichko and Kolya jumped up. Kolya started "at your order ...", but the commissar did not listen to the end:
- Come on, Comrade Pluzhnikov, the general is waiting. You are free, comrade commanders.
They went to the head of the school not through the waiting room, where the duty officer was sitting, but through an empty room. In the back of this room there was a door through which the commissar went out, leaving Kolya alone, puzzled.
Until now, Kolya met with the general, when the general handed him a certificate and personal weapons, which so nicely pulled his side. There was, however, one more meeting, but Kolya was embarrassed to remember it, and the general forgot forever.
This meeting took place two years ago, when Kolya - still a civilian, but already with a haircut for a typewriter - had just arrived from the station to the school along with other haircuts. Right on the parade ground, they unloaded their suitcases, and the mustachioed foreman (the one they were trying to beat after the banquet) ordered everyone to go to the bathhouse. They all went - still without a line, in a herd, talking loudly and laughing - and Kolya hesitated, because he rubbed his leg and sat barefoot. While he was putting on his shoes, everyone had already disappeared around the corner; Kolya jumped up, was about to rush after him, but then he was suddenly called out:
- Where are you, young man?
The thin, short general looked at him angrily. - The army is here, and orders in it are carried out unquestioningly. You are ordered to guard the property, so guard it until the change comes or the order is canceled.
Nobody gave the order to Kolya, but Kolya no longer doubted that this order seemed to exist by itself. And therefore, clumsily stretching out and shouting in a strangled voice: “Yes, Comrade General!”, He remained with his suitcases.
And the guys, as if it were a sin, have failed somewhere. Then it turned out that after the bath they received cadet uniforms, and the foreman took them to the tailor's shop, so that everyone would fit the clothes to the figure. All this took a lot of time, and Kolya obediently stood near the things no one needed. He stood and was extremely proud of it, as if he were guarding an ammunition depot. And no one paid attention to him until two gloomy cadets came for things, who received extraordinary outfits for yesterday's AWOL.
- I won't let you in! - Kolya shouted. - Do not dare to approach! ..
- What? one of the penalties asked rather rudely. - Now I will give it in the neck ...
- Back! - Pluzhnikov shouted with enthusiasm, - I am a sentry! I order!..
Naturally, he did not have a weapon, but he yelled so much that the cadets, just in case, decided not to get involved. They went for the senior along the line, but Kolya did not obey him either and demanded either a change or a cancellation. And since there was no change and could not be, they began to find out who had appointed him to this post. However, Kolya refused to enter into conversations and made a noise until the officer on duty at the school appeared. The red bandage worked, but after passing the post, Kolya did not know where to go and what to do. And the duty officer did not know either, but when they figured it out, the bathhouse had already closed, and Kolya had to live another day as a civilian, but then incur the vengeful wrath of the foreman ...
And today I had to meet with the general for the third time. Kolya wanted this and was desperately cowardly, because he believed in mysterious rumors about the general's participation in the Spanish events. And having believed, he could not help but be afraid of the eyes, which quite recently saw real fascists and real battles.
Finally the door opened and the commissar beckoned him with a finger. Kolya hastily tugged at his tunic, licked his suddenly dry lips and stepped behind the deaf curtains.
The entrance was opposite the official one, and Kolya found himself behind the stooped general's back. This somewhat embarrassed him, and he did not shout the report as clearly as he had hoped. The general listened and pointed to a chair in front of the table. Kolya sat down, putting his hands on his knees and straightening unnaturally. The general looked at him attentively, put on his glasses (Kolya was extremely upset when he saw these glasses! ..) and began to read some sheets of paper that were filed into a red folder: Kolya did not yet know what exactly he, Lieutenant Pluzhnikov, looked like. ".
- All fives - and one three? - the general was surprised. - Why three?
“Three in software,” said Kolya, blushing as thickly as a girl. - I will retake, comrade general.
“No, Comrade Lieutenant, it's late already,” the general grinned.
“Excellent characteristics on the part of the Komsomol and on the part of comrades,” the commissar said quietly.
“Uh-huh,” the general confirmed, plunging back into reading.
The commissar went to the open window, lit a cigarette and smiled at Kolya, like an old acquaintance. Kolya responded by politely moving his lips and once again staring intently at the general's bridge of the nose.
- And you, it turns out, shoot great? the general asked. - The prize is, one might say, a shooter.
“He defended the honor of the school,” the commissioner confirmed.
- Perfectly. The general closed the red folder, pushed it aside and took off his glasses. - We have a proposal for you, Comrade Lieutenant.
Kolya readily leaned forward, not saying a word. After the post of commissioner for footcloths, he no longer hoped for intelligence.
“We suggest that you stay at the school as the commander of a training platoon,” said the general. - Responsible position. What year are you?
- I was born on the twelfth of April one thousand nine hundred and twenty-two! - Kolya rattled off.
He spoke mechanically, because he feverishly pondered what to do. Of course, the proposed position was extremely honorable for yesterday's graduate, but Kolya could not suddenly jump up and shout like this: "With pleasure, Comrade General!" I could not, because the commander - he was firmly convinced of this - becomes a real commander only after serving in the troops, having sipped with the soldiers from the same pot, having learned to command them. And he wanted to become such a commander and therefore went to the combined-arms school, when everyone raved about aviation or, in extreme cases, tanks.
“In three years, you will have the right to enter the academy,” the general continued. - And apparently, you should study further.
- We will even give you the right to choose, - the commissioner smiled. - Well, in whose company do you want: to Gorobtsov or to Velichko?
“He's probably tired of Gorobtsov,” the general grinned.
Kolya wanted to say that he was not at all tired of Gorobtsov, that he was an excellent commander, but all this was useless, because he, Nikolai Pluzhnikov, was not going to stay at the school. He needs a unit, soldiers, a platoon commander's sweaty strap - everything that is called the short word "service". So he wanted to say, but the words got confused in his head, and Kolya suddenly began to blush again.
“You can light a cigarette, Comrade Lieutenant,” the general said, hiding a smile. - Have a smoke, consider the proposal ...
- It won't work, - the regimental commissar sighed. - He doesn't smoke, that's bad luck.
“I don’t smoke,” Kolya confirmed and cleared his throat carefully. - Comrade General, may I?
- I'm listening, listening.
- Comrade General, I thank you, of course, and thank you very much for your trust. I understand that this is a great honor for me, but all the same, let me refuse, Comrade General.
- Why? - The regimental commissar frowned, stepped from the window. - What's the news, Pluzhnikov?
The general looked at him in silence. He looked with obvious interest, and Kolya cheered up:
- I believe that every commander should first serve in the troops, Comrade General. So we were told in the school, and the comrade regimental commissar himself at the gala evening also said that only in a military unit one can become a real commander.
The commissar coughed in confusion and returned to the window. The general was still looking at Kolya.
- And therefore - thank you very much, of course, Comrade General - therefore I very much ask you: please send me to the unit. Any part and any position.
Kolya fell silent, and there was a pause in the office. However, neither the general nor the commissar noticed her, but Kolya felt how she was stretching, and was very embarrassed.
- - I, of course, understand, Comrade General, that ...
“But he’s a good fellow, commissar,” the chief suddenly said cheerfully. - Good fellow you, lieutenant, by God, good fellow!
And the commissar suddenly laughed and slapped Kolya firmly on the shoulder:
- Thank you for the memory, Pluzhnikov!
And all three smiled as if they had found a way out of an uncomfortable situation.
- So, to the unit?
- To the unit, comrade general.
- Won't you change your mind? - The chief suddenly switched to "you" and did not change the address.
- No.
- And all the same, where will they send? the commissioner asked. - And what about the mother, sister? .. He has no father, comrade general.
- I know. - The general hid a smile, looked seriously, drummed his fingers on the red folder. - Special Western suit, Lieutenant?
Kolya turned pink: they dreamed of serving in special districts as an unthinkable success.
- Do you agree as a platoon leader?
- Comrade General! .. - Kolya jumped up and immediately sat down, remembering the discipline. - Thank you very much, comrade general! ..
“But on one condition,” the general said very seriously. - I give you, Lieutenant, a year of military practice. And exactly one year later, I will ask you back, at the school, for the position of the commander of a training platoon. Agree?
- I agree, comrade general. If you order ...
- We will order, we will order! - the commissar laughed. - We need such non-smoking passion.
“There’s only one nuisance here, Lieutenant: you’re not getting a vacation.” Maximum on Sunday you should be in the part.
“Yes, you don’t have to stay with your mother in Moscow,” smiled the commissar. - Where does she live there?
- At Ostozhenka ... That is, now it is called Metrostroyevskaya.
- On Ostozhenka ... - the general sighed and, standing up, held out his hand to Kolya: - Well, happy to serve, lieutenant. I'm waiting in a year, remember!
- Thank you, Comrade General. Goodbye! - Kolya shouted and with a marching step left the office.
In those days, it was difficult with train tickets, but the commissioner, escorting Kolya through the mysterious room, promised to get this ticket. All day Kolya handed over cases, ran around with a detour sheet, received documents in the drill department. There, another pleasant surprise awaited him: the head of the school, by order, announced his gratitude for completing a special assignment. And in the evening the attendant handed over the ticket, and Kolya Pluzhnikov, having carefully said goodbye to everyone, departed for the new service through the city of Moscow, having three days left: until Sunday ...

2

The train arrived in Moscow in the morning. Kolya got to Kropotkinskaya by metro - the most beautiful metro in the world; he always remembered this and felt an incredible sense of pride going underground. At the station "Palace of the Soviets" he got off; on the opposite side, a blank fence rose, behind which something knocked, hissed and rumbled. And Kolya also looked at this fence with great pride, because the foundation of the tallest building in the world was laid behind it: the Palace of Soviets with a giant statue of Lenin at the top.
Near the house, from where he left for school two years ago, Kolya stopped. This house is the most ordinary Moscow apartment building with vaulted gates, a deaf courtyard and many cats - this house was very dear to him in a very special way. Here he knew every staircase, every corner, and every brick in every corner. This was his home, and if the concept of "homeland" was felt as something grandiose, then the house was simply the most native place in the whole earth.
Kolya stood near the house, smiled and thought that there, in the yard, on the sunny side, Matveyevna was probably sitting, knitting an endless stocking and talking to everyone who passed by. He imagined how she would stop him and ask where he was going, whose he was and where he came from. For some reason he was sure that Matveyevna would never recognize him, and was happy in advance.
And then two girls came out of the gate. The one that was slightly taller had a dress with short sleeves, but the whole difference between the girls ended there: they wore the same hairstyle, the same white socks and white rubberized shoes. The little girl glanced at the impossibly dragged lieutenant with a suitcase, turned after her friend, but suddenly slowed down and looked around again.
- Vera? .. - Kolya asked in a whisper. - Verka, devil, is that you? ..
A squeal was heard at the Manezh. His sister threw herself on her neck at a run, as in childhood, bending her knees, and he could hardly resist: she became rather heavy, this little sister of his ...
- Kolya! Ringlet! Kolka! ..
- How big you have become, Vera.
- Sixteen years! she said proudly. - And you thought you were growing up alone, right? .. Oh, you are already a lieutenant! Valyushka, congratulate Comrade Lieutenant.
Tall, smiling, stepped forward:
- Hello, Kolya.
He turned his gaze to the chintz-covered chest. He remembered very well the two skinny girls, with ankles like grasshoppers. And hastily averted his eyes:
- Well, girls, you do not recognize ...
- Oh, we go to school! - Vera sighed. - Today is the last Komsomol, and it is simply impossible not to go.
- In the evening we will meet, - said Valya. She unashamedly examined him with surprisingly calm eyes. This made Kolya embarrassed and angry, because he was older and, according to all laws, girls should have been embarrassed.
- I'm leaving in the evening.
- Where? - Vera was surprised.
“To a new duty station,” he said, not without importance. - I'm passing through here.
- So, at lunchtime. - Valya again caught his eye and smiled. - I'll bring the gramophone.

Vasiliev's novel "Not on the Lists", written in 1974, is dedicated to the Great Patriotic War. Through the prism of the formation of the protagonist, the writer managed to accurately and succinctly describe all the horrors of the war hard times.

For better preparation for the literature lesson and for the reader's diary, we recommend reading the online summary "Not listed in the lists" by chapter.

main characters

Kolya Pluzhnikov- a nineteen-year-old junior lieutenant, a courageous and determined guy, a patriot of his homeland.

Myrrh- a Jewish girl, disabled, forced to move with the help of a prosthesis, Kolya's first and only love.

Other characters

faith- sixteen-year-old sister of koli.

Valya- Vera's friend, who has been in love with Kolya since childhood.

Salnikov- a brave, cunning, smart fighter, Kolya's loyal friend.

Vasya Volkov- a young Red Army soldier who lost his mind after the horrors he experienced.

Fedorchuk- a sergeant, an adult man who, in order to save his life, prefers to surrender to the Germans.

Stepan Matveevich- a foreman who, after being wounded in the leg and infected with the wound, undermines himself along with the Germans.

Semishny- the paralyzed foreman, the last surviving ally of Kolya.

Part one

Chapter I

Nineteen-year-old Kolya Pluzhnikov graduated from military school with the rank of junior lieutenant. The general summons him and notes "excellent characteristics on the part of the Komsomol and on the part of his comrades." He invites the young man to stay at the school as a training platoon commander with the prospect of continuing his studies at the Military Academy. However, Kolya refuses the flattering offer and asks to be transferred to "any part and any position."

Chapter II

Kolya is sent to a new duty station through Moscow, where his mother and sixteen-year-old sister Vera live. The young man makes a few hours to see his family.

At home, he meets his sister's friend, who has long been in love with him. In a conversation with Kolya, the girl shares her fears “that the situation is very serious” and war cannot be avoided, but he calms her down.

Dancing with Valya, Kolya acutely feels that this is love, "about which he read so much and which he has not yet met." Valya promises to visit the young man at his new duty station.

Chapter III

In Brest Kolya, along with his fellow travelers, he goes to a restaurant, where he sees a German gendarme - a man "from that world, from Germany enslaved by Hitler."

It is restless in Brest: every night the noise of tractors, tanks, and the roar of cars is heard in the distance. After a hearty dinner, Kolya parted ways with his fellow travelers. He remains in a restaurant, where he meets the violinist's lame niece, Mirra. The girl undertakes to escort the lieutenant to the Brest Fortress.

Chapter IV

At the checkpoint Kolya receives directions to the barracks for business travelers. Mirra, who works in the fortress, escorts Kolya to the barracks.

He seems suspicious of the "provocative conversations" that his new acquaintance makes, as well as the striking "awareness of this limp."

Mirra brings Kolya to the warehouse, where he drinks tea. Meanwhile, dawn breaks on June 22, 1941. The rumble of exploding shells is heard. Realizing that the war has begun, Pluzhnikov rushes to the exit, since he never appears on the lists.

Part two

Chapter I

Once on the street, the lieutenant sees that everything is engulfed in fire: "cars in parking lots, booths and temporary buildings, shops, warehouses, vegetable stores." From an unfamiliar soldier, Kolya learns that the Germans broke into the fortress and declared war with Germany.

Having found his own people, Kolya enters the command of the political commander, but in a terrible panic, he does not accept travel allowances from him. He orders poorly armed soldiers to recapture the church occupied by the Germans, threatening that "whoever remains is a deserter."

Soviet soldiers count every cartridge, and they save water to cool machine guns. Each of them hopes that "the army units will break through to their rescue by morning," and they need to somehow hold out until that moment.

Chapter II

The next day, "the ground groaned again, the walls of the church swayed, plaster and broken bricks fell down." The Germans break into the church, and Kolya, together with Salnikov, runs to another place, where he finds a small detachment led by a senior lieutenant. Pluzhnikov realizes that "succumbing to panic, he abandoned the fighters and cowardly fled from the position."

Endless attacks, bombing and shelling in a continuous sequence replace each other. Kolya, Salnikov and the border guard, breaking through under fire, try to hide in the basement compartment. They soon find out that this is a dead end, from which there is no way out.

Chapter III

Kolya "clearly remembered only the first three days of defense," then days and nights merged for him into an incessant series of bombings and shelling. Consciousness is clouded from the strongest thirst, and even in a dream all thoughts are only about water.

Salnikov and Pluzhnikov take refuge in a funnel from continuous automatic rounds, where they are discovered by a "young, well-fed, clean-shaven" German. Salnikov knocks the German down and orders Kolya to flee. The lieutenant notices a narrow hole under the brick wall, and crawls into it "as fast as he could."

In the dungeon, Pluzhnikov discovers Mirra and her comrades. In hysterical convulsions, he begins to accuse them of cowardice and betrayal. But soon, tired, he calms down.

Part three

Chapter I

Kolya finds out that the warehouse in which he drank tea on the eve of the war was covered with "a heavy shell in the first minutes of artillery preparation." Senior Sergeant Fedorchuk, Sergeant Major Stepan Matveyevich, Red Army soldier Vasya Volkov and three women were buried alive under the rubble. The whole war for them was at the top, and they were "cut off from their own people and from the whole world." They had a decent supply of food, and they got water from a dug well.

The men pounded the walls at random, trying to find a loophole upstairs. Through the "intricate labyrinth of underground corridors, dead ends and deaf casemates" they made their way to the armory, which had only one exit - a narrow hole through which Pluzhnikov escaped from certain death. Seeing the untouched ammunition depot, he "could hardly hold back tears" and ordered everyone to prepare their weapons for battle.

Kolya tries to get to the remnants of the garrison, but at that moment the Germans undermine the wall and destroy the last surviving fighters. Now in the ruins of the fortress there are only a miracle surviving loners.

Pluzhnikov returns to the underground and, completely devastated, lies "without words, thoughts and movement." He remembers all those who covered him with their bodies during the battles, thanks to which he stayed alive.

Fedorchuk, thinking that "the lieutenant has moved," lays a hole with a brick, which connects them with the world above. He just wants to "live while there is food and this deaf underground, not known to the Germans."

Pluzhnikov tries to commit suicide, but at the last moment he is stopped by Mirra.

Chapter II

Kolya again takes command and orders to dismantle the passage upstairs. In search of his own, he regularly makes sorties, and during one of them starts a shootout with the Germans.

Fedorchuk suddenly disappears, and Kolya, together with Vasya Volkov, sets off in search of "who knows where the senior sergeant has disappeared." They notice Fedorchuk, who is about to surrender to the Germans. Without a shadow of a doubt, the lieutenant shoots him in the back and kills the traitor. He "did not feel any remorse when he shot a man with whom he had sat at a common table more than once."

Fleeing from persecution, Pluzhnikov and Vasya stumble upon the prisoners, and notice their "strange passivity and strange obedience." Noticing a friend of the Red Army, Kolya learns from him that Salnikov is in the infirmary. He orders to hand over the pistol to him, but the captured Red Army soldier, fearing for his own life, gives the Germans Pluzhnikov's whereabouts.

Fleeing from pursuit, Kolya loses sight of Volkov. He understands that the fortress is occupied not by "assault Germans" - decisive and self-confident, but by much less belligerent soldiers ..

Chapter III

During his next sortie, Kolya stumbles upon two Germans: he kills one, and the other takes prisoner and leads to the dungeon. Having learned that his prisoner is a recently mobilized worker, he is no longer able to kill him, and is released.

Stepan Matveyevich, suffering from a decaying wound on his leg, realizes that he will not last long. He decides to sell his own life at a higher price, and blows himself up along with a large group of Germans.

Part four

Chapter I

Only Kolya and Mirra remain alive in the dungeon. The lieutenant understands that he needs to "slip through, break out of the fortress, get to the first people and leave the girl with them." Mirra does not even think about surrendering to the Germans - she, a cripple and a Jewess, will be immediately killed.

While exploring the basement labyrinths, Pluzhnikov unexpectedly stumbles upon two Soviet soldiers. They share with the lieutenant their plan - "to tear into Belovezhskaya Pushcha" and call him with them. But they don't intend to take the lame Mirra.

Hearing Kolya interceding for her, Mirra, out of an excess of feelings, confesses her love to the young man, and he reciprocates her.

Chapter II

Young people, inspired by a new feeling, begin to dream about what they will do in Moscow after the end of the war.

During the next patrol of the dungeon, Pluzhnikov discovers Vasya Volkov, who has gone mad, unable to withstand all the horrors of the war. Seeing Kolya, he runs away in fear, stumbles upon the Germans and dies.

Kolya becomes a witness of the solemn parade, which the Germans arrange on the occasion of the arrival of important guests. Pluzhnikov "sees in front of him the Fuehrer of Germany Adolf Hitler and the duce of the Italian fascists Benito Mussolini", but does not even know about it.

Chapter III

With the onset of autumn, “collective farmers driven from neighboring villages” appear in the fortress to clear the territory from rubble and decayed corpses.

In search of a warehouse with provisions, Pluzhnikov daily digs tunnels, "choking, breaking his nails, breaking his fingers in the blood." He stumbles upon a bag of army crackers and cries with happiness.

Mirra informs Kolya that she is expecting a child, and in order to save him she must get out of the dungeon. The lieutenant takes Mirra to a group of women who are clearing the rubble, hoping that no one in the crowd will notice the new girl. However, the Germans quickly find out that Mirra is superfluous.

The girl is severely beaten and then pierced twice with a bayonet. In the last moments, Mirra keenly senses "that she will never have either a little one, or a husband, or a life itself." Kolya does not see how the girl is being killed, and is fully confident that Mirra managed to escape to the city.

Part five

Chapter I

Kolya falls ill and is half-forgotten all the time. Relieved, he gets out and sees that the ruins of the fortress are covered with snow.

The Germans understand that Kolya was left alone in the ruins. They begin to methodically catch him, but Pluzhnikov manages to break through the cordon. All he has left is "a fierce desire to survive, a dead fortress and hatred."

Chapter II

Kolya goes to the cellars, in which he has not yet been. He meets there the only surviving fighter - Sergeant Major Semishny, wounded in the spine, and therefore unable to move. However, the foreman did not "did not want to surrender, giving death every millimeter of his body with a fight."

He already has no strength at all, but he forces Pluzhnikov to go upstairs every day and shoot the invaders, "so that their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are ordered to meddle in Russia." Before his death, Semishny hands over the regimental banner, which he always wore under his clothes.

Chapter III

In April 1942, the Germans brought a Jewish violinist to the fortress as an interpreter. They force him to go down into the dungeon and persuade the fighter to voluntarily surrender.

By that time, Kolya was already practically blind, and was driven into a trap by the Germans, from which there was no way to get out. From the violinist, he learns that the Nazis were defeated near Moscow. Pluzhnikov asks him to spread the news that "the fortress did not fall: it just bled out."

Leaning on the violinist, the lieutenant struggles out of his hiding place. An incredibly emaciated blind man without age with swollen frostbitten feet was greeted by everyone present with deathly silence. Struck by what he saw, the German general orders the soldiers to salute the hero. With arms outstretched, Pluzhnikov falls to the ground and dies.

Epilogue

In the extreme west of Belarus stands the Brest Fortress, which took the first blow on the morning of June 22, 1941. Tourists from different parts of the world come here to honor the memory of the fallen soldiers. The guides will certainly tell them the legend about an unknown warrior who managed to fight the invaders alone for ten months.

Among the numerous exhibits of the museum there is a miraculously preserved regimental banner, and "a small wooden prosthesis with the remnant of a woman's shoe."

Conclusion

In his book, Boris Vasiliev, with surprising simplicity, demonstrated the full power of the heroic feat of a young soldier who managed to prove to everyone that even one is a warrior in the field.

After reading the brief retelling "Not included in the lists", we recommend that you read the novel in its full version ..

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A young lieutenant ends up in the Brest Fortress on the first day of the war. For ten months he stubbornly resists the Nazis and dies unbroken.

Part one

Nineteen-year-old Kolya Pluzhnikov graduates from a military school with the rank of junior lieutenant. Instead of a vacation, the commissioner asks him to help deal with the property of the school, which is expanding due to the complicated situation in Europe.

For two weeks Pluzhnikov has been dismantling and accounting for military equipment. Then the general summons him and offers to stay in his native school as a training platoon commander with the prospect of continuing his studies at the Military Academy. Kolya refuses - he wants to serve in the army.

The commander ... becomes a real commander only after serving in the troops, having a meal with the soldiers from the same pot, having learned to command them.

Kolya was appointed platoon commander and sent to the Special Western District on the condition that he would return to the school in a year.

Kolya goes to his place of service via Moscow. He makes a few hours to see his mother and younger sister - Kolya's father died in Central Asia at the hands of the Basmachi. At home, Kolya meets his sister's friend. The girl has long been in love with him. She promises to wait for Kolya and is going to visit him at his new duty station. The girl believes that the war will soon begin, but Kolya is convinced that these are empty rumors, and the Red Army is strong and will not let the enemy into our territory.

Kolya arrives in Brest in the evening. Not finding a dining room, he, along with random fellow travelers, goes to a restaurant where a self-taught violinist is playing. It is restless in Brest, every night beyond the Bug one can hear the roar of engines, tanks and tractors.

After dinner, Kolya parted ways with his fellow travelers. They call him with them, but Pluzhnikov remains in the restaurant. The violinist plays for the lieutenant, and the musician's niece Mirra escorts Kolya to the Brest fortress.

At the checkpoint, Kolya is sent to the barracks for business travelers. Mirrochka undertakes to accompany him.

It was very quiet and very warm, and his head was a little dizzy, and he thought with pleasure that he had nowhere to rush, because he was not on the lists yet.

Mirra, a lame Jewish girl who works in the fortress, is aware of everything that happens in the city and in the garrison. This seems suspicious to Kolya. Before the next checkpoint, he tries to open the holster of the service weapon and in a moment is already lying in the dust at the sight of the duty officer.

Having settled the misunderstanding, Mirra undertakes to clear Kolya of dust and takes him to a warehouse in a large basement. There the lieutenant meets two middle-aged women, a mustachioed foreman, a gloomy sergeant and an eternally sleepy young soldier. While Kolya is cleaning, dawn begins, the night of June 22, 1941 ends. Kolya is seated to drink tea, and then the roar of explosions is heard. The foreman is sure that the war has begun. Kolya rushes upstairs to be in time for his regiment, because he is not on the lists.

Part two

Pluzhnikov finds himself in the center of an unfamiliar fortress. Everything around is on fire, people are burning alive in the garage. On the way to the CPC, Kolya hides in a crater with an unfamiliar soldier, who says: the Germans are already in the fortress. Pluzhnikov understands that the war has really begun.

Following a soldier by the name of Salnikov, Kolya nailed to his own people and, under the command of the political leader, fought off a club occupied by the Germans - a former church. Kolya is entrusted with keeping the church. For the rest of the day, the fortress was bombed. Kolya and a dozen fighters beat off the attacks of the Nazis with trophy weapons. All the water goes to cooling the machine guns, the river bank is already occupied by the Nazis, and the soldiers are thirsty.

He no longer felt any fear or time: he was ringing in his stuffy ears, a dreary tickle in his dry throat, and out of habit, his hands were dropping from the beating German machine gun.

Between the attacks, Pluzhnikov and Salnikov inspect the vast basement of the church - the women hiding there seem to have seen the Germans - but finds no one. In the evening, the nimble Salnikov brings water. Kolya begins to understand that the Red Army will not help them.

In the morning the Germans break through the basement. Kolya and Salnikov run under fire to another basement, where a small detachment of soldiers, led by a senior lieutenant, has settled down. He believes that the church had to be abandoned because of Pluzhnikov. Kolya also feels his guilt - he overlooked - and undertakes to atone for it.

He sat on the floor, not moving, gloomily thinking that he had done the worst thing: betrayed his comrades. He did not look for excuses for himself, did not feel sorry for himself: he tried to understand why this happened.

Kolya receives an order to correct the mistake and recapture the church. They beat him off, and yesterday repeats itself - bombing, attacks. Kolya lies behind a machine gun and shoots, burning himself against the red-hot body.

They are replaced in the morning. Kolya, Salnikov and the high border guard retreat, come under fire and break into the basement compartment, from which there is no exit. Only at night do they break through to the circular barracks, under which a network of cellars also runs. The enemy, meanwhile, is changing tactics. Now German sappers are methodically blowing up the ruins, destroying places to hide.

In the basements Kolya meets a wounded political instructor and learns from him that the Germans promise a heavenly life to the surrendered "valiant defenders of the fortress." The political leader, however, believes that the Germans must be beaten so that they are afraid of every stone, tree and hole in the ground. Kolya understands that the political instructor is right.

The next day Kolya ends up in the common cellars.

Days and nights merged into a single chain of attacks and bombings, ... battles with the enemy and short, like fainting minutes of oblivion. And a constant, exhausting desire to drink that does not pass even in a dream.

The political leader dies, taking several fascists with him, mortally wounds a high border guard during the storming of the bridge, then the commanders send women and children into German captivity so that they do not die of thirst in the basements.

Kolya gets water for the wounded. The border guard asks to take him to the exit from the basement - he wants to die in the open. Helping a friend, Kolya says that everyone was ordered to "scatter in every direction." But there are no cartridges, and to break through without ammunition is a senseless suicide.

Leaving the border guard to die, Kolya and Salnikov set off to look for an ammunition depot. The Germans have already occupied the fortress. During the day they destroy the ruins, and at night these ruins come to life.

Wounded, scorched, exhausted by thirst and battles, skeletons in rags rose from under the bricks, crawled out of the dungeons and ... destroyed those who risked staying overnight. And the Germans were afraid of the nights.

Friends make their way to the warehouse during the day, hiding in the craters. A German finds them in one of the craters. They start to beat Salnikov, and they drive Pluzhnikov in a circle, "encouraging" him with automatic bursts, until he dives into an inconspicuous hole in the ground.

Kolya ends up in an isolated bunker, where he meets Mirra and her companions - senior sergeant Fedorchuk, foreman, Red Army soldier Vasya Volkov. They have a supply of food, they got water by breaking the floor and digging a well. Coming to his senses, Kolya feels that he is at home.

Part three

The whole war for them, walled up alive in a deaf casemate, was now going on above.

While Kolya was fighting, they made their way through the basements to this isolated bunker with two exits - to the surface and to the weapons warehouse.

Pluzhnnikov decides to make his way to the remnants of the garrison lodged in the distant basements, but he is late: before his eyes, the Germans blow up the shelter and destroy the last defenders of the fortress. Now only scattered loners remain in the ruins.

Pluzhnikov returns to the basement and lies on the bench for a long time, remembering those with whom he fought all these days.

With amazing clarity he saw them all now. Everyone who, covering him, rushed forward, rushed without hesitation, without hesitation, moved by something incomprehensible, incomprehensible to him.

Kolya pronounces himself a death sentence and decides to shoot himself. Mirra stops him. The next morning, Pluzhnikov finally comes to his senses, arming the men who were in his submission and arranging forays to the surface, hoping to find at least one of his own. Kolya believes that Salnikov is still alive, and is constantly looking for him.

During one of the sorties, a firefight begins and the foreman is wounded in the leg. The next day Fedorchuk disappears. Kolya, together with Vasya Volkov, goes to look for him and sees how he voluntarily surrenders to the Germans. Pluzhnikov kills the traitor with a shot in the back.

He did not feel remorse for having shot a man with whom he had sat at a common table more than once. On the contrary, he felt angry, joyful excitement.

Vasya begins to fear his commander. Meanwhile, the Germans enter the fortress and begin to clean up the ruins. Kolya and Volkov retreat and stumble upon the prisoners, among whom Pluzhnikov sees a familiar Red Army soldier. He informs Kolya that Salnikov is alive and is in the German hospital. The prisoner tries to betray him. Kolya has to run away, and he loses Volkov.

Pluzhnikov notices that the Germans of a different kind came to the fortress - not so grasping and quick. He takes one prisoner and finds out that this is a mobilized German worker from the sentry squad. Kolya understands that he must kill the prisoner, but cannot do this and lets him go.

The foreman's wound decays, he feels that he will not last long, and decides to sell his life dearly. The foreman blows up the gates through which the enemy enters the fortress, along with himself and a large group of Germans.

Part four

On the advice of the foreman, Kolya wants to send Mirra prisoner to the Germans, hoping that she can survive. The girl thinks that Kolya wants to get rid of her as a burden. She understands that the Germans will kill her, a cripple and a Jew.

Pluzhnikov explores the labyrinth of basements and stumbles upon two survivors - a sergeant and a corporal. They are going to leave the fortress and call Kolya with them. New acquaintances do not want to take Mirra with them. They believe that the Red Army is defeated and want to flee as soon as possible. Kolya refuses to leave the girl alone and forces the sergeant and corporal to leave, supplying them with cartridges.

Mirra is in love with Kolya, and he shares her feelings. They become husband and wife.

And again there was no darkness, no basement, no rats that squeaked in the corners. And again there was no war, but there were two. Two on Earth. Man and woman.

Time passes. Pluzhnikov patrols the fortress every day. On one of these sorties, he meets Vasya Volkov. He lost his mind, but Pluzhnikov is still afraid. Seeing Kolya, Volkov runs away, stumbles upon the Germans and dies.

Autumn is coming. Mirra confesses to Kolya that she is expecting a child and must leave. Kolya had already seen a detachment of captured women in the fortress who were clearing the rubble. He takes Mirra to them, she tries to mix with the prisoners, but the extra woman is noticed. She is recognized by a German who was once spared by Kolya. Mirra is trying to move away so that Pluzhnikov, who is watching everything from the basement hole, does not understand anything and does not interfere. The girl is severely beaten and stabbed with a bayonet.

A bright light flashed before her tightly closed eyes, and in this merciless light she suddenly saw that she would never have either a little one, or a husband, or a life itself.

A half-dead girl is heaped up with bricks in a small funnel.

Part five

Kolya falls ill and loses track of the days. When Pluzhnikov recovers and gets out, there is already snow in the fortress. He starts hunting German patrols again.

He was alive and still felt that he was the master of the Brest Fortress, which had subsided under the snow.

Pluzhnikov is sure that Mirra has returned to her family, and tries not to think about her.

Kolya gets into the church, remembers how he fought for it, and understands: there is no death and loneliness, "because there is it, this is the past." The Germans try to catch him, quietly cordoning off the church, but Pluzhnikov escapes. In the evening, Kolya returns to his habitable corner and discovers that it has been blown up - Pluzhnikov was given footprints in the freshly fallen snow.

Kolya goes to unexplored cellars and meets the surviving foreman Semishny there. He is wounded in the spine and can no longer walk - he is gradually paralyzed. But the spirit of the foreman is not broken, he is sure that every meter of his native land resists the enemy. He makes Kolya leave the basement every day and kill the invaders.

So that they knew: the fortress is alive. So that they are afraid of the dead. So that their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are ordered to meddle in Russia!

Kolya gradually begins to lose his sight, but stubbornly goes "hunting". The foreman is also getting worse, he can hardly sit, but does not give up, "giving death every millimeter of his body with a fight."

On the first day of 1942, Semishny dies. Before his death, he gives Kolya the regimental banner, which he wore all this time under his clothes.

On April 12th, the Germans find Pluzhnikov. As an interpreter, they bring a self-taught violinist who once played for Kolya. From him, Pluzhnikov learns that the Germans were defeated near Moscow. Kolya feels that he has fulfilled his duty and goes out to the enemies. He is ill, almost blind, but he keeps upright. He goes to the ambulance through the line of German soldiers, and they, at the command of the officer, raise their hands to their caps.

But he did not see these honors, and if he did, he would not care anymore. He was above all conceivable honor, above glory, above life and above death.

Near the car, he falls "free and after life, death trampled death."

Epilogue

Visitors who come to the Museum of the Brest Fortress will be sure to tell the legend about a man who was not on the lists, but defended the fortress for ten months; they will be shown the only surviving regimental banner and "a small wooden prosthesis with the remains of a woman's shoe" found in a funnel under bricks.